Camouflage
by the morrighan
Summary: The cat and mouse game continues...except who is the cat and who is the mouse this time?
1. Chapter 1

Camouflage

Brown.

A deep, velvety shade. Rich. Intoxicating. A shade a man could easily lose himself in, could fall into the chocolate depths, and happily. Would succumb to any and all demands. Amber sparks glinted. Carson Beckett smiled at his thoughts as he shone the light into Moira Sheppard's eyes. Knowing full well that John Sheppard had fallen into those deep, expressive depths and never intended to leave.

"Well?" John asked, impatient. Worried. He watched Carson examine his wife. Allow her eyes to close once more as she lay on the bed in the infirmary. Check her pulse. Feel her forehead, her rosy cheek.

"The fever is nearly gone now. I'm giving her some antibiotics and I am going to check her blood work. If I didn't know any better I'd say this was a virus...but it could just be the enzyme..." He looked at John. "You say she threw up, then collapsed?"

"Yeah. Threw up a lot, although she hasn't eaten that much since we got back. And she felt hot. We were talking and she just passed out." John did not divulge the conversation as it filled his mind.

"_Moira? Are you pregnant?" John asks, as she staggers out of the bathroom. Flushed. Hand on her stomach. Shaky from the vomiting._

_Moira stares. Slaps him. Gasps. Touches his stinging cheek. "Sorry! I don't know why I reacted like that! No. No, I'm not pregnant, John!" She lurches to the bed. Sits. Arms folded across her stomach now, hunching over in pain._

"And you said her behavior had become erratic?" Carson asked. "John?"

John was rubbing his cheek, recalling the slap. "Huh? Oh, yes. For a few days now. Like I told you this morning. All over the place. Her moods." He shifted his stance, uncomfortable. Wondering if he was somehow to blame. He glanced at her in the bed. Remembering.

_John rubs his stinging cheek, moving to her. "Are you sure? I mean...with all of the sex we've been having, and I–"_

"_I'm on the pill, John!" she flares, eying him. "So no. I'm not–"_

"_These things happen, Moira. And I've only occasionally used condoms since we're exclusive and you are on the pill and you've never said anything about–"_

"_No, John! Okay! I am not pregnant! I'm sick!"_

"And how are you feeling? Do you feel sick?" Carson asked.

"No," John replied, shaking off the memory. "I've never felt better, actually." He shrugged. "What do you think it is, Carson?"

"I've no bloody idea, yet, but I will. Don't worry, John," he placed a hand on the other man's arm. "She'll be fine. The fever's abated."

"Okay." John stood close to the bed, gazing down at his wife. Remembering.

"_Are you sure, Moira? You...you were with the colonel those three days...and not on the pill when he...when you..." The thought of her being pregnant with his alternate, darker self makes him tense, glower at her. A flood of jealousy causing his hands to form into fists at his sides._

_Moira stares at him, straightening in shock. Pain forgotten. "What? No! No...I'm not! John, I am not..." But the possibility flashes in her brown eyes. A look of stunned horror. She rises to her feet, shakes her head. "No, no, it' s not possible! I mean...I wouldn't be exhibiting any symptoms if...it would be too soon. No! I'm sick! It's just the enzyme or..." She doubles over as pain clenches her stomach._

"_Moira!" John rushes to catch her before she falls. Anger gone as concern floods him now. He touches her cheek. "You're burning up! Moira? Moira!" She slumps in his arms. _

John touched her arm. Fingers gently stroking her bare skin. "Moira," he whispered. Emotion rising to the surface but he pushed it down, pushed it away. Deciding he turned to Carson. The doctor was at a microscope, peering into the lens at a slide. "Carson...I...I think she might be pregnant," he said. A tumult of emotion in that one word.

"I'm not pregnant."

John turned, startled. "Moira?" He sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand.

Moira blinked, sitting up. She touched her cheek. Stared round a moment, disorientated. "John? What...what happened?"

"You passed out, honey. Don't you remember?" he asked. "How do you feel?"

"Sore. Oh no! I threw up, didn't I? I remember that! I was so hot...so sick..." She drew her hand from his, suddenly remembering everything. She frowned.

John sheepishly shrugged. "Sorry. About that...I...look, it doesn't matter, I mean, if–"

"It's not! I mean I'm not. I..." She felt tears. "Carson?"

Carson joined them. "How do you feel, love? Tell me everything."

Moira relaxed as his blue gaze swept over her. Eyes so kind, so reassuring. Smile gentle. Understanding. As if she could do no wrong. "I...sore. My stomach's sore, probably from the throwing up. I've been feeling sick on and off for a few days now...have only a little appetite. The cramps started this morning...and I've been hot and cold on and off too...I couldn't tell if it was just me, or a virus, or the..." She halted, glanced at John. Recalling the repeated sex they had been having. Over and over.

"All right," Carson smoothed over the awkward pause. "I'm sure it is nothing, and you seem much better now. I'm running a full blood panel as we speak so we will get to the bottom of this. Don't worry. Let me just check you out here, all right?" At her nod he glanced at John. "Could you move back a bit, colonel?"

"Huh? Oh." John stood, stepped away from the bed. Gaze locked on Moira as Carson stepped closer. He lifted her shirt, gently felt her stomach, her abdomen. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

"This?" He pressed near the fading bruise on her side.

"No."

"This?"

"No, ow! Yes...it's just sore," she explained.

"All right. Let me do a scan just to be sure. More than likely it was something you ate. With the enzyme. Three days on that will set you off-balance," he assured, moving to grab an Ancient scanner from a table.

"That wouldn't explain her mood swings," John dourly noted. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Tense. Agitated.

"Yes, it would, John," Moira disagreed. "The enzyme affects the adrenal glands and brain chemistry to some extent. And I haven't had mood swings!" she added curtly.

He smiled briefly. "Really? Yeah, right. You've been even more mercurial than usual, Moira, and that's saying a lot."

"I'm sure it is for you, flyboy," she taunted, causing his gaze to narrow in reprimand, "but at least I haven't been sexually insatiable like you've been!" she accused in a whisper.

John smiled. "It takes two to tango, baby, and believe me, you tangoed as much as I did."

"You arrogant son of a...results?"

"Results?" John turned to see Carson approaching with a scanner in his hands.

"Not yet, Moira. But this will determine if you have any internal injuries." He ran the device over her stomach, her abdomen. The bruise. Read the screen. Lowered her shirt into place to cover her once more. "No internal injuries. No internal bleeding. No spasms or cysts...and you are not pregnant," he concluded.

Moira glared at John. "Told you." Relief swept through her like a cool breeze.

John's face was a neutral mask. "What did you expect me to think, Moira?"

"If you two were thinking of starting a fam–"

"No! We're not starting that!" Moira declared tersely. "We're not starting anything. We're not having one."

John stared at her, surprised at both the suggestion and her stern, angry denials. "Um, Moira? You mean right now, right? We're not having one right now."

"I meant what I said!" She turned away from him as Carson discreetly walked across the room. "Carson, how long will the blood work take?"

"About an hour, love. Just relax. I'd like you to stay here until I am certain you are fine."

John stepped close to the bed. Touched Moira's hand as she clutched the blanket. "Moira, we um, we haven't even discussed this."

She met his gaze, anger and tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, John. Can we not talk about this now? Please! I can't talk about this now!"

"All right, sweetheart." He leaned close, kissed her cheek, trying to ameliorate, apologize. But Moira ignored his attempts.

"No, it's not all right, John! My God...do you have any idea the stress I am under right now? Have been for days? Of course you don't," she answered before he could, "because you've been too busy trying to get into my pants as often as you could! You have no idea what I endured on that planet! Trying to survive being hunted by Ford, by his mutated men, by those deformed cavemen! And here! Trying to decipher the flash drive and all of that biological information on the Wraith and the enzyme and the ATA gene! Trying to understand what the colonel wants me to do with it all! Not to mention that now an ex-lover of yours is convinced you slept with her when you didn't and now she's going to pursue you! How many ex-lovers do you have here in Atlantis right now, John? How many?"

"Moira," John tried to temporize, glancing around the infirmary as her voice rose in pitch, in volume, "you are being ridiculous, now just try to–"

"Ridiculous? Am I? Of course you would say that, John, now wouldn't you? How many? How many, damn it! Tell me!" she all but shouted.

John inwardly swore. "Will you calm down! Damn it, Moira, what the hell?"

She stared at him. Sighed. "I...I....sorry, John." She looked at her hands. Twisting her fingers together on her lap. "What am I supposed to do? What if I run into one of them? What if you decide to leave me for one of them? Once you learn the, the truth about me you will leave, you will leave because they always leave they always leave they–"

"Moira!" he barked. His stern voice halting her rising panic. She stared at him. Swallowed. "I won't leave you," he assured in a calmer voice. Quiet. "Okay? Just relax, sweetheart. We can talk about all of this later once you feel better."

"I...sorry, John! I don't know what's wrong."

"We're going to find out." He kissed her brow. "It will be all right, Moira."

"You, you should go. It will be an hour before we know anything definitive. You must have work to do."

"Yes, I do. And I can do it right here. Rest." He pulled up a chair, grabbed his data pad from the floor. Sat near the bed. Began to work on it, eyes on the screen. He glanced at her, saw her staring at him. Calmer. Warmth replacing the anger in her eyes. "What?"

She smiled. "John, you don't have to stay here, really. I'll be fine. Like you said, it's probably nothing."

"No. In an hour we'll see what Carson finds, if anything. Then we can go back to our room so you can rest properly. Besides, this is a nice, quiet place to work." He resumed his gaze on the screen. "Once you are better we have a lot to discuss."

"Oh oh," she muttered. "I don't want to discuss anything. I don't want to talk. To do anything." She touched her sore stomach. "I'm so tired, John."

"Then sleep, Moira. I'll be right here."

Moira sighed. Watching him as he worked. Fingers moving on the keyboard. Handsome face cast in serious lines. Lips pursed together. Whatever he was doing it wasn't pleasant. Wasn't relaxing as his shoulders hunched. A grim resolve colored his features. She wondered. Debated if she should ask or not. Finally her curiosity got the better of her. "John?"

He made an annoyed sound, causing her to smile. "Yes, Moira?"

"What are you doing?"

"Working."

"Yes, I can see you are working, silly. On what? You, you look so, so solemn."

He met her gaze. "Letters. Now please get some rest, honey. I'm not going anywhere."

"Letters?" she asked, puzzled. Then realized. Letters of condolence to the families of the men that had been killed on the mission. To contain Ford. To save her. "Oh..oh...I'm sorry! I'm sorry, John!"

"It's not your fault, Moira," he assured, seeing the guilt. The dismay. "It's mine. Now rest."

"I...I'm sorry, John." She turned onto her side, upset. Settled and closed her eyes. Trying to block all thoughts. All guilt. She opened her eyes to see him working again. Closed them, reassured by his presence.

John sighed. Glanced at Moira to see her resting at last. He frowned. Looked back at the data pad and started on the next letter.


	2. Chapter 2

Camouflage2

Moira dozed. Woke, hearing voices. She opened her eyes, moving carefully onto her back. Squinted as the bright lights of the infirmary shone down upon her. She sat, looked to see John still seated near the bed. Data pad on the floor near his boots. He was talking quietly into his earpiece, hand up to his ear.

"Then re-schedule Evans and pull back Delta from the mainland. They never should have been sent there in the first place. They are on permanent assignment in the city unless I authorize otherwise." He looked up as Carson approached, an unhappy expression on his face. John's stomach lurched. He moved to his feet instantly. "Carson, what is it?" He looked at Moira.

"Is it bad? Because I feel better," Moira assured, eyes on the doctor.

"You'll be fine, love. And no, there's nothing in you. No parasite."

"And I'm not pregnant," she asserted.

John's brows quirked, puzzled why she chose that moment to say that, but he held his tongue.

"Then what is it, Carson?"

"Moira, you've been, or rather you were infected with the enzyme. I mean a lot of it. A dose of it that was quite virulent, hence your fever and vomiting. What's more, there's more to it than the enzyme itself."

"What does that mean? I mean we knew she was on the enzyme...and that does explain a lot...the mood swings, the hormonal surges, the irrational anger," John mused.

"Irrational?" she complained. "I don't think it's irrational to be angry because you refuse to tell me how many ex-lovers you have in Atlantis right now, or to be pissed at your extraordinary sexual appetite, or to be–"

"But it was extraordinary, wasn't it?" he quipped, raising a brow.

She fumed, but shook her head. "Men! Oh! You think that's why I was teasing your–"

"Yes, partly," he swiftly interjected, glanced at Carson who was trying to pretend to be elsewhere. "Sorry, doc. You see how she is."

"Me? You're the one with the Carson, I only ingested fruit and water. And not much of that. Not enough to make me sick," she abruptly changed topics. "And no moss. Not like John did and that made him as sick as I am." She frowned. "I don't understand how..."

"That son of a bitch," John snarled, realizing. "The colonel did this."

"What? No, John! The colonel would never hurt me," she argued.

"No? Just make you a little sick. But why? Moira, right before you left him he kissed you. Remember?"

She colored, recalling it. "I...um...yes."

"He slipped you something, then. Remember?" John prompted.

"I..did he? I don't know. Let me think." She stared at the distance, trying to remember. Recall every detail of that last, long kiss. So like her John yet not like him. He had even tasted different. That long, devouring kiss as he had pulled her into his arms.

John frowned. Jealous as he saw her going over the kiss in her mind. Every little detail. He remembered the length of the kiss, the depth. The irrational jealousy and anger filled him yet again. He stepped close. "Here, let me refresh your memory." He leaned closer to her. Lips hovering over hers. "Tongue?"

"What?" she whispered, startled by his sudden proximity. Embarrassed as if caught kissing another man, which she had, but it had been the same man. Just a different version. "No! No tongue in the infirmary!" she scolded.

He smiled briefly. Gaze locked with hers. "I meant the kiss. Did he use tongue?"

"I...um..."

"Of course he did." He kissed her. Soft, slow. Guiding her lips apart. Sliding his tongue along hers. Making her murmur. Her hand touch his chest, slide up. He pulled back. "Minty fresh," he teased. She smiled. "Well?"

"Well what?"she asked dreamily. "Oh!" She blushed as he smiled, amused. "Um...yes. I swallowed something...I nearly choked on his tongue, his...something went down and I couldn't stop it. Then he apologized and he..." Her brown eyes widened.

John straightened. "Damn him. I thought so. Carson?"

Carson had been watching the interplay between them. Amused. Startled. "Yes, that would explain everything, Moira. You'll be fine. You only have a slight increase in your adrenaline glands now, and that will dissipate normally. Most of whatever he gave you left your body when you got sick. There's something additional there...I'm running more tests now to isolate the exact chemicals but you'll be fine now. Why would he slip you something?"

"I don't know," Moira sighed, still in disbelief. "It doesn't make any sense! He wouldn't hurt me, he wouldn't," she insisted, more to herself than to the doctor.

"You forget what he did, Moira. To his Moira," John reminded. "He killed her. He'd use you as a guinea pig to save the city, the survivors. He gave you just enough of whatever it was to make you sick...but why? To keep you here in Atlantis?"

"It can't be all about me, John!" she refuted. "First and foremost he want to protect the survivors. To end the Wraith. John, what would you do?"

"Me? For one I wouldn't put you at risk. Not for anyone or anything, Moira."

She touched his hand at his side. Smiled. "But you could determine his motives, couldn't you? Better than anyone else."

"Maybe. Let me think." He entwined his fingers with hers. "It could be some elaborate ploy. I'm not sure."

"No. I told you, it can't be all about me." She considered. "We need to access that flash drive." She freed her hand. Swung her legs off the bed.

"Moira?"

"Moira, where–" Carson echoed.

"I'm fine. I can't think here. Carson, I need to rest in my room. To figure this out, with John."

She stood. "As soon as you identify whatever is in that enzyme that made me so ill please call me. John, come with me, please. We need to see the rest of that flash drive ASAP." She took his arm.

"As long as you rest, Moira, fine. Go on, then. John, if she gets sick at all you–"

"I've got you on speed dial, doc. Moira." He began to lead her out of the medical bay.

"John, there has to be a good reason for making me–"

"Sick? No. There is none, Moira. None. But you're right. There must be a reason. We'll figure it out together, sweetheart." Once in her room he led her to the table. Sat on the chair. Patted his thighs. "Here." He powered the data pad.

She stood, smirking. "I can sit in my own chair, colonel."

"This is better, Moira. Much more cozy. Come on, baby. You know you want to," he teased with a smile.

She smiled. Laughed. "Fine, sweetie. Just keep that thing locked down." He laughed as she sat on his lap. Squirmed to make herself comfortable. Touched the keyboard as the screen filled with the files. Moved the cursor. "Atlantis. Any ideas?"

"Several...but for that file? Hmm..." He drummed his fingers on the table, after scooting them closer to it. Moira settled comfortably against his chest as his arms encircled her. "This will be on lock down...the fall of the city, I'm guessing." He typed a sequence. "Ah." It opened.

"Wow. What was it, John?"

"My serial number."

"Your...oh. But I don't know that."

"No, but it'd be easy enough for you to find out. Here we go...it's a vid file. The last days." He watched over her shoulder, holding her close to him. Hands resting on her thighs.

Jumpy images played on the screen. A visual recording of the invasion of the city by the ATA Wraith. Guns. Lasers. Bodies. Explosions. Scattered images, disjointed.

"What's that? On the 'Gate?" she asked.

"Looks like C4...but that...naquadah? Shit. He's going to blow the Stargate. Which is pretty difficult to do in the first place. Even though the enemy is already through. Must be ships...hive ships surrounding the planet to reinforce the ground troops...blocking the 'Gate and any means of egress," he mused, watching.

"Isn't that, that Caldwell?" Moira gasped. Recognizing the features of Steven Caldwell. Although they were heavily mutated by blue scaly skin.

"Yes. Shit. He's been compromised. The enemy within. That explains the access, at least. And the ATA gene, of course, enabled them to completely take over every system...why the hell didn't he evacuate more?"

"He tried. He said there wasn't time," Moira defended.

"There's always time," John argued. "Contingency plans."

"They were at war, John."

"Exactly! Stop defending him, Moira! He's not me. Look at that! Whoa. Stop. Back that up, would you, please. Slow it down."

Moira did so. "What did you see? He was at the Ancient Chair device." She rewound the images of him at it. Played them slowly.

"Something...see that panel? The one he's accessing...slow it down. Play it again." John drummed his fingers on her thigh. Stopped. Stared keenly at the sequence. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "Damn I'm clever. Well, he's clever. He's done something to it. To ours as well. I bet you any money he has. That sequence...son of a bitch."

"What?" she asked, perplexed. Watching the colonel kneeling at the Chair, at the access panel. Fingers playing on it. "I don't understand."

"Watch his hand. Once more. That." John pointed to the screen. "That is a military code. A sequence to be typed, a numerical code for sensitive, highly sensitive data. My code, Moira. Not for here. From Afghanistan. Got it. When we are done here we will inspect our own Chair."

"You think he did something here? To ours?" she questioned.

"Yes. And he must have implemented it before his other, er, antics. Before he took you. Under a password that is exclusive to me, known only to me. I don't think he'd endanger the city or anything like that, but he did something. Go on."

Moira resumed the video. They watched in silence. The exploding ships. The towers of the city being devastated by the ships in the sky as the shield failed. The last scenes of the city from underwater as it sank. Sank slowly into the waters. Smoking and belching fire.

"Secondary charges, there," John noted quietly. "On the star drive itself. That's what I would have done. Complete and total destruction of the city and its intel. Of the Stargate if that is even possible. Before it falls into enemy hands. No intel compromised. Earth protected."

"Total destruction of the 'Gate and the control room?" she asked, horrified.

"Yes. If the city was to be taken we would set the self-destruct codes after evacuating everyone. And place secondary charges, incendiary charges on the star drive, the ZPMs, the Stargate. Destroy all intel, all access to Earth. Leave no survivors."

She closed the file, somber. Touched his hand on her thigh. "John...what happened there won't happen here."

"No. It won't. But it could, Moira. The wolf's been at the door more than once, you know. So far we've been lucky." He sat back, brooding. "You know that the SGC would send a nuclear bomb through the 'Gate if we were ever compromised. If Earth was in danger we're all expendable."

She turned on his lap to meet his gaze. "Really?"

"Yes. That's classified intel, so keep it close, Moira. We have to hold out here for our own survival. If something like that happened..." He gestured towards the data screen, "Earth would finish the job if we couldn't."

"Wow. I...wow..."

"I know. Grim but necessary. What else is on there?"

"Not much more, I think. Just..." She closed the data pad. Eyed him. "John, you...you would stay behind, wouldn't you? Like he did? To initiate all the sequences and make sure–"

"Yes." His arm tightened on her. "That's my job, Moira. My responsibility. But it won't come to that. I won't let it," he vowed, voice lowering. His lips had just brushed hers when a knocking at the door interrupted.

Moira sighed, slid off his lap. "You better get that."

He moved to the door, waved it open. "Rod–"

"These equations are incredible!" Rodney McKay enthused, entering the room. "They are brilliant! Well, of course they are brilliant because they are mine, well, my alternate's but you know what I mean. Quite complex and a form of higher math, obviously beyond anything we have here but I can still understand them. The other me must be a genius, of course like me but these equations are only postulated, unproven theories in our particular reality! Can you imagine the implications? The anomaly alone would be, oh hi Moira, are you feeling better?" he asked, circling the room as he talked. "The anomaly alone would be–"

"Rodney!" John nearly shouted, trying to head off the rambling scientist. "Are they too complex?"

"No! Not for me, of course not but anyone else they would be completely beyond them! The formulas are incredibly intricate, terribly complex, amazingly precise! I mean one mistake, just one and you could end up anywhere, any when or more than likely obliterated and erased from all existence!"

"Can you shut it down?"

"This opens a whole new method of travel, John!" Rodney enthused, still circling, ignoring his friend's question. "We've broken through the fourth dimension! Could access alternate realities, different realities to side-step realities! We could make leaps in scientific advancements and–"

"Rodney!" John snapped. "Can you shut it down?"

"What?" He paused. "Maybe...I'd have to trigger it first but I need a, a..." He snapped his fingers. "Was there some Ancient device with these precise calculations?"

"Yes. A keycard," Moira answered, still standing near the table. "He used it in his ship."

"Of course! To program the algorithms and precisely control the trigger's mechanism! Ancient tech using the ship's power sources! The subtlety is beautiful! The ship has to be shielded since it was underwater, the energy drain would be immense to–"

"Rodney! Shut it down!"

"What? We can't just–"

"Yes, we can. I want you to shut that thing down. Permanently," John ordered, moving to stand in front of his friend. To halt his perambulations around the room.

"What? Why? You...oh..." He glanced at Moira, suddenly understanding.

"Yes," John confirmed.

"But the scientific–"

"Don't care. Find a way to shut down the anomaly for good. The one here, the ones on other planets. I want that particular reality unaccessible."

"Even if I could do it he could still access the–"

"Find a way to make sure he can't," John insisted. "And I need the specs on those ships. That's how he got into the city. Our sensors read his ship as a Jumper, as Ancient so it didn't challenge him. He could penetrate our defenses easily and I won't let that happen again. I need you to find a way to interrupt the culling beam on a Dart as well. So it can't take anyone. Can you do that?"


	3. Chapter 3

Camouflage3

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Why didn't I ever think of that? Geez, if I had thought of that we could have stopped the Wraith cullings years ago! Oh well, good thing you just thought of that now, isn't it, John? It can't be done! Not on any scale–"

"What about for one person?" John countered, ignoring the sarcasm. "If you applied the tech in that tracking device, or the one from that Wraith worshiper you had a crush on, then you–"

"I did not have crush on her!" Rodney flared, glanced uncomfortably at Moira. "Really, I didn't, I don't–"

"Interrupt the culling beam on a specific level, a specific person with a different frequency," John suggested. Waited.

"Huh. If I could do that, and that's a big, big if...it would only work with one person in one specific location...you...oh." He looked at Moira again. "That's how he took her out of the city and located her in the first place. The culling beam on his ship, which we couldn't track. So–"

"Yes," John confirmed. "Find a way to make it happen, Rodney. And soon. And find a way to shut down that anomaly."

"Which is the priority?"

"Both."

"Both? You think I can–"

"Of course you can, you can multitask quite well under pressure. I've seen you," John assured, taking Rodney's elbow and guiding him to the door. "I need both ASAP. Go."

"All right, all right, I'll see what I can do!" Rodney grumbled, but was actually anticipating the challenge.

Moira waited until the physicist was gone. "John, do you really think the colonel's going to come back here? He's in the middle of a war!"

He turned to her. She was standing near the table, hugging herself. Appearing worried. Uncertain. "He will, Moira. I know him. He won't come today, or tomorrow. But soon. He'll come back for you. Trust me on this. And we need to be ready."

His words sent a chill through her. "But, but what...why...wait! Is that why you've been so, so...is that why we've been having endless sex? So you are with me?"

He smiled. "Partly," he admitted. "Mainly because I love sex with Moira Sheppard and want her. Every inch of her. Let's check out the Chair. Come on, sweetheart. Unless you're not feeling up to it."

She stared at him. "I...okay, John." She pushed her conflicting emotions aside. Followed him down the hallway. Frowned as a woman passed them. Her smile directed at John. The obvious invitation. "John...how many?"

He inwardly groaned, played dumb. "How many what, Moira?"

"Hilarious, John! How many of your lots some women are here now?"

"Why the hell are you still asking me that?" he snapped, entering a transporter. Waited until she had joined him. He touched the screen. "Well?"

"Well?" she echoed as they exited. "How many?"

"How the hell would I know? A few are, I guess..." he evaded.

"How many?" she persisted, following him down the hallway.

"Why does it matter now? We're married, for God's sakes!" he flared.

"Then tell me! Don't be so sensitive! It's not like I'm taking names to conduct a quality control panel," she taunted. Glaring at his back as they entered a room.

He smirked, but turned to face her. Frowned. "And why the hell would you need to do that, baby? Well?" He folded his arms across his chest.

"It was a joke, sweetie. Maybe," she added to irritate him.

"Ha ha. You want the truth?" he challenged.

"Yes. Don't you always tell me the truth?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. I've never lied to you, Moira. Or tried to conceal my past, um, flings." He moved to the Chair. Squatted at its base. "I think this is the panel."

"How many?" she persisted, hands on her hips as she watched him. The olive pants outlining his firm, round rear in distracting detail.

He sighed. "Let me think! It's not like a have a roster in my head!"

"Good to know, John. I suppose that would be a pretty long roster, now wouldn't it?"

"Fuck! Moira, a roster of Atlantis personnel currently stationed here! Not a roster of women I've slept with! And yes, it would be pretty damn long. Happy now?"

"Yes, I'm ecstatic, can't you tell?" she snapped at him. "It's just a question."

"Just a question. Just a question," he muttered, irritated. He removed the panel. Examined the keypads. Tapped out the sequence. "Bingo." A second panel opened. "He's added some intel, but I'll have to access it via the Chair." He stood, ignored her. Could feel her glare nonetheless. He sat in the Chair, reclining back on the hard surface. Hands on the arms. "Okay, here we go." Hearing her sudden snicker he looked over at her. "What? What is it now?" he snapped.

She smirked. "Nothing, sweetie. Just..."

"Just? Just what?"

She licked her lips. "Just...the way you are sitting there...so...I have this irresistible urge to climb all over you," she purred, nearing slowly. Eyes roaming along his body. "The way you are sitting there. It's so inviting. Kind of slutty."

"Slutty? Are you calling me a slut now?" he asked, scowling. He raised a brow. "Ancient Chair sex, huh? We'd probably implode the city."

She laughed. "True. Sorry, John...must be the enzyme. Go on."

"Yeah, right." He closed his eyes, shifting on the hard seat. Felt the tendrils of power in his mind. Accessed them carefully, searching. "Anything?"

Moira was staring at him. His long legs, knees bent, boots on the floor. Legs parted slightly. The pants clinging to his every muscle. Outlining every attribute of his lower body. Hips. Thighs. Everything. "Wow. If you had a hard-on it would be quite visible at this angle," she commented.

"Moira!" His eyes flew open as the power surged. "Shit!" He powered it down. The lights faded.

"Sorry, John," she snorted, trying not to laugh. "Please, continue."

He smirked. Gave her a scolding look before closing his eyes. Shifted on the Chair, oddly self-conscious. He concentrated, relaxing. Feeling the power, guiding it. A star field appeared in the air above him. "Anything?"

"A field of stars...planets..."

"Good. Let me concentrate..." His brow furrowed.

"Wow, sweetie...at this angle even without a hard-on you are quite impressive. And obvious."

The power surged dramatically. "Moira! Damn it!" He opened his eyes to glower at her. Saw her playful gaze fixated on his body. Her head tilted in a flirtatious manner. She nibbled her lower lip, eyes locked on his crotch. The pants molded to his now stirring cock.

"Colonel Sheppard? We're detecting an energy spike in the–" came a warning voice.

John tapped his earpiece. "I know, I know! It's me. It's all right. It's under control. Just um, testing, is all."

"Testing what?" came the irascible voice of Rodney. "John, what the hell are you doing?"

"Testing a new system, Rodney, that's all. It's fine. As long as Moira behaves herself," he added with an admonishing look in her direction.

"What new system? We don't have any new systems! I'm on my way! How many times do I have to tell you not to play with Ancient tech?" he fumed.

"Sheppard out!" He glared at Moira. "We don't have much time and I want this intel classified. Got it, baby?"

She sighed. "I wish I had it, sweetie...it looks so long, so hard...well, not hard enough but so–"

"Stop it!"

"–big in those tight, tight pants, colonel," she continued, ignoring his reprimand.

"I am going to spank that pert little ass blue, baby," he threatened, pretending to be angry but actually pleased she was acting more like herself. Enjoying her teasing, her flirtation. "Focus on the star field and not on my cock. Got it, baby?"

"Yes, sir. Focusing, sir."

"Good. Control yourself, baby. I promise you can have my cock in a few. Okay." He forced himself to relax, to shunt off all arousal, all sexual anticipation. The star field appeared again in the air. Planets circling. He opened his eyes. "Wow."

"It's like a chart. Some are in red..."

"Com here and touch the Chair. The Chair," he clarified for emphasis. Smiling.

She pouted, but touched the Chair's arm. The map brightened in colors. Was sharper. "Look! I've seen this before, the chart I mean. The Stargates on the planets, right? Isn't that Pleistocene Park? And the waterfall planet?"

"Yes." He studied it. "Hmm...M35PF7...that's odd. Not a usual designation for us. Odd. Or not. It's on the same grid as the waterfall planet...let me memorize the coordinates and see if I can place it in our own galaxy here..." The star field changed, shifted. "Ah...we are a little different but not much...see how the rotation of the planets is slightly off compared to the other one? Interesting. So that means this mystery planet is located in grid nine, sector C...got it."

The star field abruptly disappeared. The room became darker as the lights faded. The Chair duller as its occupant powered it down, off. He moved off the Chair and closed the panels. Shot to his feet hearing footsteps.

"John! What are you doing with the Chair?" Rodney demanded, entering. "What new system did you access? And why don't I know about it?"

John moved past Moira, swatting her rear on the way. "Nothing, Rodney. Just a drone check," he smoothly lied.

"A what? A drone check? What the heck is a–"

"Military stuff. Boring, you know," he shrugged. "Okay, okay, it wasn't a drone check," he admitted to Rodney's glare. "Moira. Moira wanted to have sex on the Chair so I–"

"John! I did not!" she objected, but he kept talking.

"–tried not to power it up but she really got me going so the ATA gene went–"

"John, shut up! I did not–" she tried again as Rodney looked from him to her and back again.

"–wild and I had to power down, so to speak." He grinned. Confided. "she likes it wild sometimes, you know, real–"

"John! You are so not funny!"

Rodney sighed. "Whatever. Don't play with the Chair. Or on it!"

"Sorry, Rodney. Moira." He grabbed her hand, pulled her out of the room, trying not to laugh at her flustered, annoyed expression. "What? What did you expect, baby? All that come-on talk about me and my cock."

"You never answered my question, Colonel Tight Pants! How many?"

He turned. Pushed her gently against a wall and kissed her passionately. "Want to take the stick, baby, because believe me, it's more than ready for you now."

She smiled. Ran her hand up his chest, gently pushing him back a bit from her. "You know what's interesting, John?"

He smiled, hearing her playfulness. Her eyes roving over him before meeting his gaze again. "No, Moira, what is interesting?" he asked.

She slid her hand down his chest, down his waist. Down to catch, to fondle his stirring cock. "What's interesting, Jo-hn," she drew out his name in a salacious manner, making his smile broaden, "is that as big, as long, as hard as you can be you still are able to deploy that stiff ordnance of yours inside of me. All the way inside of me. Repeatedly. You'd think it would be too big. Too long. Too hard..." she said each word slowly, "but it's not. Don't you find that interesting, John? Hmm...your cock sure does," she teased, fingers enclosing on him. Squeezing, squeezing until he groaned.

John's eyes were locked with hers. His hands on her upper arms, pinning her gently to the wall. He licked his lips slowly. "Yes, Moira, I do find that very, very interesting. But you forget."

"Forget what, John?" His voice was low, a husky edge to it that she found arousing. Her fingers stroked along the length of him as his pants tented in response.

He smiled. Her voice breathless, soft. Desire audible. "You forget, my Moira, that your sweet, sweet center is always prepped for me. No matter how snug, how tight I can always find my way there. I can deploy as deeply, as hard, as fast as I want because you are always so wet, so fucking wet when I take you. Repeatedly."

She shifted, body reacting. Smiled. "Repeatedly, sweetie?"

"Repeatedly, baby," he assured. "Hmm...it must still be tease John's cock day the way you are handling me," he noted wryly, moving a little as her fingers were playing a delicious melody along his increasing erection. "The question is, though, are we going to have sex or not? Considering how pissed you were yesterday, yet now you are practically pulling me into you."

"Hmm...I know...it must be the enzyme, sweetie...the residual effects now that I purged the virus or whatever it was. Does it really matter, John? Does it matter to you why I want to have sex with you now?"

"No, not really, as long as you do," he admitted with a grin. Footsteps. He cursed, trying to turn but Moira had a firm hold of his cock and wouldn't let go. "Moira! Damn it!"

She laughed, squeezing as she slid her hand down the length of him, then freed him. "I thought you liked it rough, sweetie?" She stepped close, whispered in his ear, "don't you want it, John? Don't you want to deploy that hard ordnance in my sweet, sweet center until you ease your burden of command?" She kissed his ear, bit.

"Fuck," he muttered, turning back to her. He grabbed her arm, pulled her into room, any room. Darkness swallowed them as he closed the door. He turned to listen but Moira sidled in front of him. Pushed him so his back was against the wall. She slid to her knees in front of him. She undid his belt, his pants. Unzipped. Tugging roughly as the pants all but trapped him. "Moira? Moira, no," he said gruffly, her fingers plying him now, pulling him out of the pants. His shorts still contained him as her fingers glided, glided.

She stopped. Looked up at him to see him staring down at her. Handsome face serious, but his brilliant green eyes were smouldering with desire, arousal. "No? I think your cock may disagree with you, colonel. Shall we ask it?"

"I said no."


	4. Chapter 4

Camouflage4

John's voice was harsh, stern even. But the undercurrent of desire, of arousal growled. Slid along Moira's skin like a caress. She stared up at him, fingers frozen on his erection even as it jerked slightly in her hands. As if it disagreed with the rest of him. "Sweetie?" She freed him. Stood slowly. Her body close to his. "Are you really saying no, John? Your lips, your succulent lips say no but your very, very hard cock says yes. Yes, please, in fact."

He smirked, but scowled at her. Glanced around the room. "I should spank that pert little ass blue, baby."

"Yes, why don't you, colonel? Then you can take me however you want." She touched his chest. Fingers playing against his shirt. "But answer my question first. How many?"

"Come on. I need to see exactly where that planet–" he began, moving past her. Shoving himself back into his pants awkwardly. Zipping and buttoning with tense fingers.

"How many?" she repeated, not moving. Glaring at him now. "John? Damn it, John, answer me!"

He ignored her. "I don't know what the significance of that planet is, if there is any, but I will soon enough. I'm thinking there could be something else in the flash drive, some deeper level of encryption. I wouldn't put it past the bastard to try something like that so we need to..." He turned. Realized he was alone in the hallway. "Four," he finally admitted with a heavy sigh. Waited. Cursing her stubbornness.

Moira stepped out of the room, staring at him. "What?"

"Four. The answer to your question. Happy now?" he snapped.

"I...four? Four!" she exclaimed, disturbed. She walked to him. Hit his chest. "Four? Four! You have four ex-lovers here now? You son of a bitch! You son of a–"

"You asked, baby," he retorted, catching her arms before she could hit him again.

"Four!"

"Get over it, baby, it doesn't mean a damn thing! We're together now," he argued.

"It does matter, you bastard! Four! Four!" she exclaimed in dismay.

"Why does it matter, baby? I'm yours now. It's not like I'm going to run out and sleep with any of them. I'm not going to cheat on you the way you..." The accusation spilled out of him before he could stop it. He froze. Tensing. He hadn't meant to say it. Had thought he had buried it. Was over it. Had moved on.

Moira stared. Smacked his arms off her. Glaring. "Did?" she completed his sentence for him. In a fraught whisper. Stunned by the accusation. The anger.

"I...I'm sorry, Moira...I...I didn't mean to say that, I didn't mean..." he stammered, trying to backpedal his way out of it, out of those dark emotions, those dark places in his mind.

"You did. You meant it, John. You still don't get it, do you?" she accused.

"Oh, I got it, Moira, I got it fine. What you did. For me. To save me. To–"

"Yes! That's the only reason, John! The only one!"

"Is it? I wonder, Moira, I really do."

"What? How could you even think–"

"Come on!" he flared, anger and jealousy rising to the surface. "You think I would ever want you to do that for me? To save me? To sleep with another man? To fuck some other guy to–"

"It wasn't another man! It was you, well, a version of you–"

"It wasn't me!" he almost shouted, furious. "Don't you get that, Moira? Or couldn't you tell? Could you tell the difference?"

"Of course I could! I–"

"Could you? Damn it, Moira, you slept with another man! I don't care if it was me, a dark side version of me, you still let him fuck you! Unless he raped you. Did he?"

"No! He wouldn't–"

"Ah ha!" He pointed at her. "What the hell am I supposed to feel about that? I mean I know it was me, a version of me, and you did it for me, but still it was another man! You slept with another man, a dark side version, no less! How the hell do you think that makes me feel, Moira? Damn it, you're my wife now!"

"You don't understand, damn you! You don't! I did what I had to do to save you! You! I had to bargain with the only thing I had, the only thing he wanted! The thing you want!" she explained, angry and distraught all at once. "John," she softened her voice, "I, I thought you were over this, were okay with this now..."

"I thought so too, but apparently not, Moira. How can I be? Shit!" He looked away from her. Trying to douse his anger, his jealousy. Understanding her reasoning, her motives, but it still gnawed at him. "It's because I know."

"Know what?" she asked, exasperated.

"That you love him! That you love him because he's me, but he's not! He's not me!" He grabbed her suddenly, pushed her against the wall, glaring at her. "I can't wrap my head around that, Moira, as much as I try, as much as I know it was me, a version of me otherwise you never would have done it, because you love me, you love him and would do anything for him, for me, but you still slept with another man! Can you understand that? Can you?"

She felt tears. His grip was tight on her arms as he held her pressed to the wall. "I...I'm sorry, John. Please...I..." She didn't know what to say. Felt guilty for what she had done, but at the same time knew she would do it again to save him. Knew her own feelings over that dark side version were as conflicted and tangled as his were over what she had done.

He gentled his grasp on her arms. "And you dare to give me shit over having four ex-lovers here in the city? You know what? I should go and sleep with one of them. To even the score. Would you like that, baby? Would you?"

She glared. Shoved him. Stepped away from the wall as he stepped back from her, freeing her arms. "Go right ahead, sweetie. If it will make you feel better you go fuck one of your four ex-lovers. Go on! How dare you even compare that to what I did for you! For you! So go! Go sleep with one of your lots some women then! I don't care! I don't care!" She shoved past him, strode down the hallway.

He turned to glare after her. "Maybe I will! Maybe I will, baby! I can have any woman in this city I want! All I have to do is snap my fingers!" He demonstrated.

"Then snap away, flyboy!" she taunted over her shoulder. Disappeared around the corner.

* * *

John strode into the control room, forgetting to limp until his leg began to ache. He stopped, tapped the comm unit. Glaring round the room. Everyone was looking elsewhere, extremely busy. "Reynolds, assemble Delta to the Jumper bay ASAP! Full gear!" He moved to a console, plugged in the coordinates of M35PF7. Except it was called P1R349 in his reality. He scowled. Turned. "Sargent, dial this address on my mark."

"Yes, sir!" the younger man agreed. Nervously recording them on a screen.

"John?" Elizabeth hastened to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I need a recon of this planet. Via Jumper. It could have valuable intel. Excuse me."

"John! How do you know this? John!" Elizabeth called, but he was limping out of the room.

"Sir?" Jason Reynolds stood near a Jumper with his team. Seeing the colonel's ill-tempered mood he added a salute as did the other men. "Orders?"

John replied evenly, "Do a quick recon of the planet. I've received new intel but I need eyes on the site. Go in cloaked, do a quick scan and survey. Return in one hour. Do not engage any of the inhabitants. If it gets hot retreat. Film anything interesting."

"Yes, sir. What are we looking for, exactly?"

John considered. "Villages. Wraith. Anything unusual. Factories or laboratories. Any unusual life forms or plants. Just film whatever you see and do a full systems scan. Covert. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. Back in one hour."

"Go."

John watched the men enter the ship. Watched it power up. He tapped his earpiece. "Sargent, dial that address now, then lock it down."

He sighed, limping out of the bay. Wishing he could lock down his own emotions as easily. Normally he could. But not now. Not concerning Moira. His Moira. He cursed to himself. Angry with her, with himself. Sexually frustrated since the argument had quelled any pleasurable activity. But he still wanted her. Lusted for her. He felt like smashing something, shooting something. Some outlet for his anger, his fury.

He considered the four ex-lovers. Or any other woman. It would be so easy. So easy. He hadn't been bragging about that. But he didn't want them. He wanted Moira. Moira beneath him, coming hard and fast. Giving herself to him. Giving him all of that love for him. So much love she had slept with his darker self to save him. No doubt to try to save that darker version too. He shook his head. He was his own worst enemy, literally. His most daunting rival was himself. But she had chosen him. Chosen to remain with him, here.

He headed for the exercise room.

* * *

Moira paced, paced in her room. Unable to work, although she knew she had to access the flash drive. Study the data in detail. Suspected that John was right, that there was another layer of information hidden in it somewhere. But she couldn't concentrate. John's accusations hitting her like a slap. His anger. His jealousy. His hurt. She wondered if he would ever trust her again. If she had irreparably broken that trust between them.

She sighed, forced back the tears. Tangled her fingers together as she paced, paced. Not knowing what to do, what to say. How to make it better. How to move past it. She knew he wouldn't cheat on her. Would not go to one of those women, or any woman. She trusted him. Which made her feel relief, but also guilty over what she had done. Loving both men, the same man, just different versions of that man. One more tragic than the other. One more bitter than the other. One consumed by the darkness, in ways she knew only too well. The other having merely shadows of that version. Shadows lurking beneath the surface.

She chewed her lower lip, debating how to make it right. How to soothe, console, reassure. Her thoughts becoming more and more erotic recalling their interrupted foreplay. She licked her lips. Could feel the enzyme encouraging such thoughts, such activities. She smiled. Decided.

* * *

John was swinging both sticks in tandem. Faster. Faster. Faster, whirling them in a wild rhythm as he forced Ronon Dex backwards across the room. Sticks clattering on sticks. Harder. Harder. Harder. Until one split and snapped. The two pieces flew across the room.

"Um, you do know this is practice, right?" Ronon asked, impressed. Shaking his arm as the vibrations from the broken stick made it tingle.

John paused, breathing heavily. A feral smile on his face. "Yeah. I'm not out for blood or anything."

"You sure?" Ronon questioned. Swinging his one stick now as John twirled his two fighting weapons. "Have some issues, do you?"

"Yeah. You could say that. Stop talking and fight!" He advanced. Ronon raised his stick to block and the two men began a circling stance. Weapons striking and striking.

"Woman problems?" Ronon asked, ducked as John nearly took off his head with both sticks.

"Shut up!" he snarled, advancing once more.

"Thought so." Ronon parried. "Moira?" He struck hard, knocking one of the sticks out of John's grasp as he reacted to the name. It flew, skittered across the floor and hit the wall. "You should go talk to her, Sheppard. Women like that kind of thing."

"Shut up!" John flared, pissed. His normally reticent friend was suddenly as talkative as Rodney. He swung the remaining stick. Both men placing their free hand behind their back. They circled, circled. Sticks clattering against each other as neither gained any ground. Nor lost any.

Moira silently entered the room. Stood watching. Watching John's every move. Arm muscles rippling as he plied the stick against his opponent. His t-shirt molded to his torso. Glued by sweat to his back muscles as they flexed. Pants clinging to his muscled thighs. His firm rear as he circled, circled. Feet moving with feline grace. There was a sexy agility about him, a wild danger that just threatened to rise to the surface. Lethal force held back but there, just waiting if needed. "Jo-hn," she half-sang in a sultry whisper.

John stumbled as the erotic invitation distracted him, startled him. Broke his concentration. He fell as Ronon's stick clipped his brow. "Ow!" he exclaimed, landing on his backside. His stick skittered across the floor as he lost hold of it. It rolled to Moira. She placed her foot on it. "Moira!" John snapped, annoyed. He put a hand to his brow.

"You okay?" Ronon asked, about to help his friend to his feet.

"Clear the room." Moira's voice was soft. Stern.

"Give me a hand here, would you?" John asked. Extended an open hand. But Ronon was looking at Moira. Without a word he nodded. Vacated the room.

John scowled. "Thanks a lot, Moira." He glanced at her, intending to say more. But looked again. Her loose hair billowed around her. She wore a gray woven shirt, a few buttons open to give him a glimpse of the swells of her breasts when she leaned down to grab the stick. The khaki pants hugged her hips as she walked to him. Her gaze devouring his sprawled form. The stick held firmly in one hand. "Moira?"

She moved to her knees in front of him, sat upon folded legs. Eyes wandering along his splayed thighs, bent knees. She lightly tapped his inner thigh with the stick. "That was careless, John. Careless," she scolded.

John swallowed. Could see the passion in her brown eyes. The desire for him. "It's your fault," he pouted. Watching her warily.

"Sorry, sweetie. Let me make it all better now." She unbuttoned her shirt. Scooted closer, moving between his legs.

"Um...huh? Moira...um..." he stammered, uncharacteristically uncertain. He stared. She wore a lacy, push-up bra that was a pale, pale green. She lifted a corner of the shirt. He stared at her mouth as she sucked, sucked the material. Soaking it. She moved close. Closer. Leaning over him as she wiped the trace of blood from his brow. The shirt gaped wide and John could see the front closure of the bra. Could see her rosy nipples poking the fabric.

"Careless, sweetie. So careless," she chided once more. Ran her fingers lightly down the side of his face, along his jaw. Playfully across his lips.

John was trying not to react. Surprised at her advances after their argument. Aroused by the purring desire in her voice. The hunger in her brown eyes. "Moira...I–"

She kissed him, cutting off his words, his protests, his objections. Catching his mouth with hers. Capturing those perfect, perfect lips to entwine with hers. To part as she deepened the kiss. Invited his tongue to play, to glide. Until she broke the kiss to let her mouth wander along his cheek. Along his throat. Tongue licking up to his ear as she tasted the sweaty, musky scent of him. She circled his ear. Bit gently. Sucking until he groaned, moving in reaction.

His hand slid up her arm, catching her. Gently pushing her back a little. "Moira, we...oh shit." He froze as she had hold of the stick again. Was tapping it ever so gently between his legs. Perilously close to his stirring cock.

"We need to have sex, sweetie," she informed, voice serious. Stick lightly, lightly tapping his thigh. Brushing along his cock for a moment.

John nearly gulped. "Um, okay, baby. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. Just don't get too wild with that stick."

She smiled. "This stick?" She held it up, placed it aside. Grasped his cock. Stroking. "Or this one, sweetie? Can I get wild with this one?"

He smiled, moaning softly as her fingers plied him. "As wild as you want to get, baby. Here?"

"What's the problem, sweetie? Can't get it up here?" she teased, freeing him. She moved to grab the stick but he sat, caught her and roughly pulled her into his arms, into a lengthy kiss. But he pushed her away from him, keeping hold of her arms.

"Not here, baby. Not now. I don't have one with me."

"One what?" she asked, breathless. Staring at him. She could see his desire. His need flaring in his warm gaze. She could hear it in his husky voice. "It looks to me like you have all of the required equipment, colonel. And then some," she purred.

He smirked. "Hilarious, Moira. But I meant a condom."


	5. Chapter 5

Camouflage5

Moira stared as John moved awkwardly to his feet after he freed her arms. "What?"

"You heard. Let's go, baby."

"No. I've told you, John, you don't need one!"

"Moira, until we discuss this particular topic I'm wearing one. Now let's go!" His voice was harsh. Frustrated yet again.

Moira shook her head. "What topic?"

"What do you think?" he retorted. Staring down at her. The open shirt. Her breasts bulging out of the bra. Her hair messily falling about her. "Since you obviously don't want to get pregnant right now you should be applauding me, not chastising me. What, you have a hang-up with condoms now?"

"I don't want to talk about it! There is no need for you wear one, John! I want you commando. But if you are going to insist then fine! No sex. Go fuck one of your four ex-lovers and use it there! Did you use them there?"

He frowned. "Yes, I did. What the fuck is your hang-up, Moira? I'd prefer to go commando too, you know, but after this last scare we need to be–"

"But it wasn't a scare! I was sick! Not pregnant! You jumped to the wrong conclusion, not me!" She stood. Furious. "I don't want to talk about this, all right? I only wanted to have sex, John! To make things right between us! All of a sudden you decide we need to be extra careful? We are being careful!"

"Until we discuss this properly I want to be doubly careful, all right?" he argued, becoming angry again. "The last thing we need right now is an unexpected pregnancy. We'll decide when the time is right to–"

"You mean you'll decide! Damn it, John! I don't want to talk about this! I just wanted you! You! I just wanted sex!"

He smirked. Becoming aroused by her anger. The open shirt. Her swirling hair. He wanted her. "You can have me, have sex, Moira. Guaranteed. Just let me put on a–"

"Fuck you, John! I don't want–"

"Fuck me? I thought that was the idea, baby! I'd like nothing better. Why the hell is this upsetting you this much? Have you never had sex like that? Or have you? It won't hurt you, baby, I promise. It won't be any different...well, a little, but more for me than for you." He moved to touch her arm. "Is this how it's going to be, Moira?"

She slapped his hand away. Hit his arm. "Yes, John! It's all or nothing! Either you give me your naked cock or no cock at all!"

He smirked, trying not to laugh. "I see. Well, when you put it like that, baby...geez! What's a guy to do?"

"Man up and make a decision, sweetie. That's if you can."

"We can make it fun, Moira. Erotic. You can put it on me, inch by inch."

"Naked or nothing, John. Those are my terms." She turned away from him. Frustrated. Wanting him. Knew the anger, the annoyance would turn to hot passion. Wild sex.

"Terms? Terms now? At least tell me why you have such a strenuous objection to them. You don't like them? Don't like the feel of them inside you? Inside that sweet, sweet center of yours?" he added, voice low as his stared at the fall of her hair down her back. Her rear snug in the khaki pants. His fingers itched to grab, to squeeze. "Afraid we'll go through my whole supply in one night?"

"Shut up, John!"

"Or is it you think I'll go out and fuck some other woman since I've started using them again? Is that it?" he snapped. Tension coiling.

"No. You wouldn't do that."

Her soft, calm voice soothed him. "That's right, baby. I wouldn't. Not like..." He caught himself before the rest slipped out again. Cursed inwardly.

She turned to him. Eyes moist. But anger sparkled. "You just can't let it go, can you? Even now. You just can't see past your own ego and your own–"

"Fuck this," he growled. Grabbed her and kissed her. Hard. Shoving his body along hers. Thrusting himself against her. Demanding. Ignoring everything else but the need, the hunger. The thrumming lust between them that screamed for release, for fulfillment. Nothing else mattered to him at that moment.

Moira pushed, hit, clawed but he hauled her to the floor. Shoved her onto her back and threw himself on top of her. Kissing her repeatedly, roughly. Nearly biting her as he devoured her mouth. Body shoving on hers repeatedly. He grabbed her arms, pinned them over her head as she arched into him. Legs opening even as she bucked under him, as if she would throw him off her. But his weight pinned her, held her in place. He trailed kisses along her throat. Nibbled her earlobe. Biting and licking until she whimpered. The flood of desire a hot river in her body.

Moira shivered with need, with lust. John's hands slid down her arms down to her breasts. He freed her. Yanked the shirt open. Undid the bra and freed her breasts. Fondling as he greedily kissed her. Over and over until she felt dizzy, lost her breath.

John rolled off her. "Take off your pants," he ordered. Undid his own, yanking open his shorts as his bulging erection was painful. "Moira!"

She caught her breath. Had nearly drowned under his kisses. Possession. She undid her pants, wiggled out of them. Paused, fingers on her pale green panties. John was watching her avidly. She licked her lips. Ran her fingers along her crotch. Felt her wetness, her readiness. Her need already throbbing for him. She arched, fingers playing, probing. She murmured, moaned, arousing herself under his hot gaze. Knew he would get off on it. "Oh John," she whimpered.

John made an inarticulate sound deep in his throat. He grabbed her hand. Shoved it out of the way. Yanked down the panties. Feeling her readiness. The aroma of arousal sweet on the air. Driving him into lustful impatience. He slid over her, shoving her thighs wide. Kissed her and ran his mouth down to her breasts again. Tongue teasing. Sucking until she cried out, arching and squirming under him. Fingers clawing his back.

Moira whimpered, feeling him so ready, so hard. Jerking against her thigh before he abruptly thrust into her. She cried out his name, arching and exulting in the fullness of him, the length of him as he plied her thoroughly. Grunting, groaning as he pounded her into the floor. Faster, faster as he craved release, craved the litany of his name escaping her lips as she came. Craved the feel of her enfolding him, squeezing him, slick and hot and pulsing with his every motion.

John couldn't stop. Moira's cries spurring him on and on as she sobbed her climax, scratching along his back like a cat in heat. Her sounds propelling him to go harder, harder until he reached his own release. Shuddering as he expended himself into her, easing the tension. The anger turned to wild passion, possession. His mind was clearing as his body became sated at last. Realized they were having exuberant sex in the middle of the exercise room, on the floor.

Moira gasped, relaxing as he collapsed on top of her. She blinked, trying to clear her vision of the tears she had shed. John had brought her to sobbing pleasure again, as he so often did. She stroked his back, his hair. Melting beneath him as the intense pleasure echoed, echoed. So intimately entwined with John she couldn't think straight. Didn't feel the hard floor beneath her. Gently, gently she stroked his back, his hair as he rested upon her. His breathing slowing, calming. "John...I...I'm sorry..."

John shifted on her. Drowsing in the washes of pleasure that had inundated his body. In Moira's passion and his own. "You don't have to apologize for sex, baby," he muttered against her breasts. Deliberately misunderstanding. Hoping she would leave it alone. Knowing she wouldn't.

"Not that," she chided, tapping his shoulder. Swallowed. Nervous. Knew she had to broach the subject now when he was more amenable. More likely to be sympathetic after sex. Especially exuberant sex. "John...I'm sorry. I never meant...I...I love you, John. I love you. I never meant to, to hurt you, or to erode your, your trust in me...I just...John, I'm sorry, so–"

"No." He lifted his head. Touched her lips. Wiped the tears from her rosy cheeks. "All that love for me, Moira. I get it. All that love for him. You've seen me at my worst...you've seen the darkness in me, well, some of it...and still you love me. Love him."

"John, I don't–" she tried to protest, but he kissed her. Tasting her tears. Tears of pleasure, of sorrow, of distress. "Ssh, Moira." He stroked her cheek, a tender caress as he stared into her eyes. "I do trust you. I'm sorry. I know I've been a prick, and I'm sorry. Alpha male, you know. Very territorial. Possessive. And this...shit...my rival is...myself. Sort of..."

"No, John. You don't have a rival. I'm with you. I love you. I chose you." She kissed him, shifting under him. Stroking his arm, wishing he had removed his shirt. "John–"

"No more post-coital, baby. We're okay." He kissed her again, a soft, languorous kiss. Slid his body teasingly along hers. "Hmm...again?"

"What?" She smiled, relaxing. "Oh John, you...no!" He laughed as she pushed him off her. He rolled onto his back as she sat, staring round. "Shit! Anyone could come in on us! What were you thinking, sweetie?"

John smiled as she scrambled into her clothes. "Me? You're the one who cleared the room, baby. Who practically attacked me when I was down. What were you thinking? Besides having sex, I mean. Luscious sex on the floor. Look at that equipment, Moira. Think what we could have done...how I could have taken that pert little ass," he mused, lazily fixing his clothes.

Moira smirked. Stood. Brushing off her rumpled shirt, pants. Running her fingers through her tangled hair. "Hilarious, John. Let's go! I need your help on the flash drive, and we should check with Carson to see if he has discovered anything about that virus, enzyme, whatever that infected me," she continued, heading for the door. "Oh! What are you going to do about that planet, John? I mean are you going to send a team to investigate or go yourself? I should probably go to if there is any biological or...John?" She sighed. He was still prone on the floor, zipping up his pants. "Will you move that fine, fine ass of yours, colonel?"

He smiled. Stood. "You know, Moira, now that I think about it we could go into the back. There's a pulley there you could hang onto as I take you from behind and–"

"Shut up, sweetie! Come on!" She took his hand, led him out of the room. "First we need to eat. I'm starving! Then the flash drive. Then Carson. Then the planet if you–"

"Already sent a team there, baby. Don't you worry. They're do back in..." he glanced at his watch, "about half an hour now. So yeah, let's eat. Do the flash drive, then see Carson. Then I'll debrief the team and we can go from there. Leaving us all night to experiment."

"Hilarious, John. No. Work."

"Oh, it will be a workout, baby, believe me," he teased.

* * *

Moira sat at the table in her room, nibbling on a sandwich. Perusing the files on the flash drive again. Mind straying to John yet again. The things he had said to her. Seemingly forgiving her but she wasn't quite certain. The exuberant sex on the floor of the exercise room. She shook free of the erotic images, feelings. The blinking cursor caught her eye. Curious she typed in the name of the planet they had discovered with the Ancient Chair device. M35PF7. A name popped onto the screen, startling her. The cursor blinking below it for a response.

_Cuchulainn._

She stared at it. Snatching some fries from John's plate. She sipped a soda, considering.

"Okay, that seems to have done the job," John stated, emerging from the bathroom. He wiped his hands on a towel. "Can't have that shower head loose, now can we. Hey! Did you eat all of my fries?" he complained, eying his less then full plate.

Moira smiled, shrugged. "Sorry, sweetie. I was hungry." She glanced at him as he pulled a chair next to hers. Sat. Grabbed his sandwich and took a big bite.

"What's that?" he asked round a mouthful, chewing. "Clutchchain?"

"Coohulane," she corrected, sounding it out for him. "It's a name. From Irish mythology." She continued to his blank look, "It means Culan's hound. Cuchulainn was the greatest of Ireland's heroes from the golden age. A fighter, a lover, a champion. Wow, he knew Gaelic!" she exclaimed, suddenly realizing. Looked back at the screen. "Or they had way cooler code names than we do."

"I like our code names," John retorted. He sipped his beer. "Great hero, did you say? Fighter?

Lover? Yeah, that'd be me," he modestly asserted.

She laughed. "Yes, John. Lover of many, many, many women. Like you." He frowned. "And a great fighter, a champion. So the answering name is...Emer."

"And he's–"

"She's his wife. His much put-upon wife," Moira explained. "The only one who had his heart. The other women just enjoyed his, um, his–"

"Cock?" he helpfully supplied. Smirked. "So that's you then. Got it. Except you have both. My heart and my cock, that is." He watched her type it in. The screen was blank. "Huh. You sure you got it right?"

"Yes," she said, typing it in again. Frowned as the screen remained blank. The cursor blinking.

John sipped his beer. "Maybe he didn't, then. I know zilch about Irish mythology."

"But you're not him, remember? Shit. Maybe this part was damaged," she suggested, glaring at the screen.

"Or he got it wrong. Hmm...maybe instead of his wife's name it was a lover's name," he suggested. Took another bite of his sandwich. Saw her glaring at him. "What?"

"Shut up!"

"It's not me, remember? I'm just saying, is all. Try one of the most well-known ones. Go on."

"Yours, or his?"

"Hilarious, Moira. One of Chuck's."

"Huh? Oh, Cuchulainn's." She sighed. "Okay."

"You forget, Moira, he never married you, I mean her. God I hate these parallel universes and alternate reality crap," he grumbled.

"Hmm...so many to choose from...guess you have the same problem, huh, John?"

"Hilarious, Moira! Cut it out!" he flared.

"Four ex-lovers in Atlantis," she grumbled, but considered the problem at hand. Nibbled her lower lip, thinking. John watched her. Waited, waited for that soft, soft sound he found so arousing. Hearing it he smiled.

"Fuck that turns me on," he muttered, touching her thigh.

"Got it! I think." She smiled. "Morrigan."

"Who is–"

"Goddess of war and fury. A death omen. Death as a lover, a trio of war goddesses. Very appropriate for a warrior, don't you think? A reckless warrior who would risk his life over and over to save others. As if he had a deep, dark death wish himself." Her words were terse. Accusatory.

John scowled. "I don't think you..." he paused as the screen lit up. He nearly jumped as his face filled the screen. Expression grave. There was a cut on his brow. His jaw stubbled. Green eyes intense. Nearly threatening.

Moira stared, eyes widening. "Colonel," she whispered, awkwardly glanced at John, then back to the screen.

"_Moira,"_ came the familiar yet slightly different voice, _"this planet could be crucial. In my reality we didn't get there in time before the invasion. But your research was right about there being a third planet in the sequence of enzyme engineering. The enzyme's protein, Moira, it has to be the key. Check for that and for the facility. It was abandoned here but may not be in yours." _He glanced to the left suddenly, then moved in closer. "_It all comes together. Second queen to pawn. Fons et origo. In rerum natura." _He gave a lopsided smile. "_Find the beginning to find the end, Moira. Only you can do it."_

The screen went blank. The file closed.

John stared, uncomfortable. Disconcerted by the sight of his dark side self. He looked at Moira. She was still staring at the screen. Gaze pensive, mournful. A flare of jealousy, anger struck him. Seeing the sympathy in her eyes. He slammed his palm on the table. Startling her.

"John?" she exclaimed. A rush of guilt assaulted her as if he had caught her with another man.

"What did that mean? Obviously it was about that planet, but what was the rest? It sounded like a chess move! Second queen to pawn. Well?"

"I don't know. I've never played chess," she admitted, baffled by the reference.

"Then what was the Latin? When the hell did I, did he learn Latin?" he snapped. Shook his head at the confusion of it all.

"The source and origin," she translated. "In the nature of things." She considered. "The enzyme, the Wraith, the origin of the species? The modern species, I mean. The enzyme's protein. I'm not sure...I need...I need to see him, er, it again, to–"

"No!" He pulled out the flash drive.

"John! What are you–"

"He's not me, Moira! Don't you see what he's doing? He's playing you, playing on your feelings for me. For me! To get you to that planet. It's a set-up," he explained, trying to dampen down his anger, his hostility for his darker self.

"What? Of course it isn't! I need to see the message again! That planet holds the answers! At least the colonel suspected it did. Of course I have to go there!"

"No. And that's final," he decided, voice low.

"John! Even if it is a trap I still need to go to–"

"I said no. And that is final!" He stood. Flash drive clenched in his fist. He headed for his room. Stiff strides betraying his roiling emotions.


	6. Chapter 6

Camouflage6

Moira stared, stunned at his refusals. Alarmed at his fury. His jealousy and fury that were scarily akin to his darker self. She stood. Followed after him. "John! Is that a military decision, Colonel Sheppard, or a personal one?" she demanded.

"Both. You should have seen how you were looking at him, Moira! How...because he's me, but not me! He's not me! Do not trust him! Don't you dare to ever, ever trust him!"

"What? You...are you that jealous of...of yourself? Don't be ridiculous, John, I–"

He whirled to face her. "Am I being ridiculous, Moira? Am I? Considering what you did with him? Considering how you feel about him because he's me but he's not? I saw that look. Hell, you look at me that way. And him, because he resembles me, but he is not me! Got it? You will do your work here, doctor, on Atlantis. That is a military decision!" He turned away from her. Strode to his dresser. "You married me, baby, not him! I don't care if he knows Gaelic or Latin or is so fucking smart! He is not me! And he has the fucking death wish thing, not me! Got it?"

She stared, startled by his vehemence. He yanked a drawer open. Pulled out a small metal box. He spun the dials, entering the code. "John...you...you have a strong box?" she asked, sidestepping for a moment.

"Yes. There's not much in it," he sourly noted. He dropped the flash drive into it. Locked it. "The code's in my military handbook, if and only if something happens to me. Otherwise leave it for now, please. If you really need this intel tell me. I don't want anyone else to access it."

"Okay, John," she softly agreed. She could almost feel the fury radiating off him. Every line of his body tense. Voice terse. His resemblance to his darker self closer than she had ever seen. It both rattled and intrigued her.

"You should probably keep that necklace in here," he offered, returning the box to the drawer. Calming slowly. "That tsavorite? And the diamond ring. Tell me, Moira...do you have any mementos? From the dead guy, er, the former fiancee?" he asked, regretting his harsh term.

"No."

"No?" He turned at her voice, so soft, so devoid of emotion. He raised a brow. "I find that difficult to believe. Nothing?"

"No. Do you have any mementos from your past? From Afghanistan, John?" she retorted.

His gaze narrowed. "No. Not from Afghanistan," he quietly commented. Leaving the rest unsaid.

"Really? Why? Because you don't want to be reminded of it?"

"I don't," he agreed. He turned away again. Closed the drawer. Fingers on the dresser. Tension flexing every muscle. "I don't want to be reminded of any of that...stuff..."

"I don't want to reminded either. But I am. Every day. That and the other stuff. It's more than what happened in Afghanistan, isn't it, John?" she tested, recalling the colonel's one word clue. "Something else haunts you, something worse. From your past. I only say that because I have that too. An, an event in my past and then the, the fiancee...I recognize the symptoms. You know what I mean. We, we need to get shit-faced drunk and tell our deepest, darkest. Not now, but soon, I think. You see, I know." She silently neared him. Touched his back, the lightest of touches to feel his tension. He had gone very, very still.

"You know? What do you supposedly know?" he mocked. Considered. "He didn't just die, did he, Moira?" he realized. "Is that it?"

"Yes," she admitted. "He didn't just die...I...I was responsible for...so, you see. I know. I know how to lock all of that away, bury it so deep it remains in the shadows. I know about the guilt that eats you up inside, little by little. I know about shutting it all down, burying it. Trying to move on day to day, week to week until it becomes so entrenched it's a part of you now. Part of your buried psyche. Always there. Do you, do you remember when you broke up with me, John? Because you didn't want to fall in love with me. Because you believed you'd fuck it all up like you always did? Well, I didn't want to fall in love with you either. Because I knew you would leave me. In some way. For another of your lots some women. Because every time I ever gave my heart and trust and love that person left me. Worst of all everyone I deeply loved has...has died because of me. The guilt tells me it will happen again. Because it always, always does. And I know I should leave you, should let you go to save you. But I...but I can't. I just can't."

John was staring at the wall. Listening to her every word. Every catch in her soft voice. Every emotion seeping through as she tried to remain calm, collected. He was stunned speechless by her too accurate understanding, her honest empathy. Surprised that she held similar experiences, emotions inside of her. Curious too. He could not imagine his Moira capable of anything dark. He turned to her. "I won't let go, Moira. I won't."

"Don't!" She backed away even as his arms were moving awkwardly to embrace her, enfold her. She had to turn away from him, from his proffered love. From his surprise and sympathy. "I, I'm sorry, John. I don't know why all that spilled out of me. Usually I can keep all of it bottled up inside me. But you...you are the only person I've ever met who seems capable of truly understanding. Not just be sympathetic and pity me, and secretly be appalled by what happened. Or just give me pat responses and expect me to be fine, as if nothing ever happened. As if I wasn't responsible. Or just shove a bottle of pills at me and force me to see a shrink who shoves more pills at me. To make it all go away, John, but it doesn't go away! No one ever gets that! It doesn't! Except you, you get that, I think." She took a deep breath, released it. "I'm sorry. I've never revealed so much at one time like this. I must, I must really trust you."

John was staring in surprise, sorrow, sympathy. Her words pinpointing his own feelings about his past. Perfectly understanding everything she had said. Every word. Every emotion. He touched her shoulder. Fingers caressing a moment. Felt her tension, her sorrow. Her pain cutting across him, a mirror to his own. He stepped closer. Oddly awkward, unsettled. But drawn to her. He slid his arms around her waist, drew her against him. Buried his face in her hair. "Moira," he breathed, voice low. "Moira, you can trust me. As I trust you. God...where have you been all my life?" he muttered.

She turned to him, hearing the strained agony. Feeling the answering one in hers. She kissed him. Gentle kisses growing more passionate, more desperate. "Oh John...John..." she murmured, feeling tears.

"Moira," he said against her skin. Voice rasping with emotion. "I know. I can't take it away. I can't. I wish I could, but I know I can't. But I can take you away from it. Drown you in my love, in sex, in pleasure. Steal you out of your misery and mine where we can be content. My Moira." He kissed her deeply, pulling her towards his bed. Hands exploring along her body.

Moira eagerly, desperately returned his kisses and caresses. She pulled him onto the bed, onto her. Moving invitingly beneath him. Welcoming all of him. "Drown me, John, drown me," she whispered tersely.

John's kisses grew more passionate, tongue gliding, hands sliding down her breasts to her pants. Fumbling with his zipper. With hers. Impatient to take her, to distract her. To claim her as his own again. To give her all the love and pleasure he could.

The comm unit twanged on the wall. "Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room. Colonel Sheppard to the 'Gate room."

John sighed, swore. He shifted on her, tapped his earpiece as Moira waited, stroking his arm. "Sargent? Report!"

"Colonel, Reynolds and his team have just returned per your orders. Reynolds says he has the intel you requested."

"On my way. Direct them to the conference room." John switched off the earpiece. Met Moira's resigned gaze. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry."

"Go," she sighed. "I should be working with Carson anyway."

He kissed her. Stroked her hair. "We'll pick this up afterwards, I promise."

"The sex? You do mean the sex, John, don't you? Because that is all I want to resume right now," she insisted.

He smiled. "Yes, Moira. The sex. Is it still tease John's cock day?" he teased, trying to lighten the mood. Abate the sorrow. Distract the thrumming desire between them.

She smiled. "Yes. All day, sweetie." She kissed him. "John. I...I'm sorry I–"

"No. Not for that. Nor for anything, sweetheart." He kissed her again, sat. Ran a hand through his hair. Fixed his pants. He looked at Moira. She had rolled onto her side away from him. Was staring at the wall. Knees slightly bent as if she would curl into a fetal position. Curl up into a ball of her own misery. He touched her arm. "Sweetheart? Are you all right?"

"Fine, John. Go."

He leaned close. Kissed her cheek. "I'll be back ASAP. Moira, I, um...we..." He didn't know what to say. What to do.

"Just go, John. And don't you dare run into any of your four fucking women," she grumbled.

He smiled. "That again? Moira, you have no need to be–"

"Will you just go!" she snapped.

"Fine!" He stood. Stared at her a moment. Then strode out of the room.

John dampened down all emotion, all memories, all concerns for Moira. He limped into the conference room, sat. Nodded for Jason to begin his report. Studied the filmed footage taken from the Jumper. Looked over the scanner's readout. He rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "Apart from this apparently abandoned facility you saw no other habitations? No signs of life, apart from the blurry image of this guy?" John rewound the footage to a fuzzy picture of a bald man. Had recognized him from another mission, except he had been killed. Killed by violent, malformed cavemen.

"No, sir, not even a village," Jason replied. Wondering at his commander's grave, solemn manner but not questioning it. "Just that facility, but we couldn't tell if it was Wraith or Ancient. Or of an indigenous design. No energy readings of any kind. And apart from that guy no one else. No sign of the Wraith either. Massive plant life. Some animals but nothing remarkable. At least not to us," he shrugged. "And that lake is about thirty klicks from the Stargate."

"Very good, major. Dismissed." John watched them file out of the room. He frowned, playing back the footage slowly. Searching for something, anything. Finding nothing. Pondered the bald man's appearance. Reviewed the footage of the animals, deciding. He tapped his earpiece. "Sargent, patch me through to my quarters." He waited for the acknowledgment. "Moira, I need to see you in the conference room now, please." He switched the earpiece off, waited.

* * *

Moira was wrapped in misery. Curled on the bed, fighting back tears. Disjoined images and memories colliding, colliding. Recalling the awful events yet again. What had happened to her former fiancee. Wondering what was lurking in the depths of John's past. Causing the guilt, the morose affects she knew only too well. Regretted saying so much to him, revealing so much. Yet was oddly comforted too. His voice from the wall startled her. "John?" She sat, sighed. Stood and fixed her clothes. Reluctant. Nevertheless she made her way to the conference room.

She entered quietly. John was sitting at the table, chin in hand, staring at nothing. "John?"

He met her gaze. "Close the door, please. I need you to take a look at this. Reynolds brought back some intel."

Moira shut the door. Moved to him and took the seat next to him. "What did they find?"

"Not much. Watch." He turned the screen towards her. Hit play. Sat back to watch, to gauge her reactions.

"Play that back again, please," she said softly. He did so, noting it was the section with the animals. He smiled fondly at her. But her sad, almost resigned tone upset him. He longed to protect her, but from what he did not know. "Moira?"

"What conclusions do you want, John? Obviously that man can't be the same one we encountered on M1K436 because he was killed. So either he has a clone, a brother, or something else. Those plants are profuse but unremarkable. The acceleration and rapid growth may indicate the presence of the enzyme. We know this is the third planet but the answers may lie in that facility, whatever it is. Those animals are early versions of their modern counterparts. I won't bore you with the details."

"Please, bore me," he encouraged. "By earlier versions you mean prehistoric?"

"Pleistocene era, like the cavemen who could be variants of Neanderthals but not the bald man. He is modern. Homo sapiens, I mean. Logically we can assume the Iratus bug is there too, in some form. Or was. It depends if the proto-Wraith even exist. The colonel...the colonel thinks they did, or do. Think of it, John. Because the colonel certainly did. The sub-Wraith we encountered were an evolutionary dead end, just like the early humanoid species. The proto-Wraith are the next step in the evolutionary process, but still not the final product. Remember the colonel's clues? His suppositions about natural selection and origin of...source of..."

"What? What is it, Moira?" he asked, paying close attention to everything she said. Seeing her look of sudden realization.

"Shit! It's right there, John!" She stood, paced. "The colonel said the answer must be on that planet! A way to eliminate the Wraith, but do we have the right to terminate an entire species?"

"We are at war, Moira," he reminded.

"What about the facility?"

"You tell me. We haven't put boots on the ground yet for a proper recon, but we will. It appears abandoned. Hell, the whole planet appears abandoned. So?"

She considered. "I have to go there, John."

"No. We had this discussion."

"No, you made a rash decision based on personal feelings," she reminded, meeting his gaze. "The colonel wouldn't place me in harm's–"

"Wouldn't he? He made you ill, Moira, for no damn good reason!" He stood, closed the data pad. "This is clearly a military mission. For my team. End of discussion."

"Discussion? What discussion, John? You just make decisions and that's that?"

"Yes, Moira. I am the military commander, remember?"

"Yes, you never let me forget that, do you?"she snapped, hands on hips as she faced him. "This is clearly a scientific mission, colonel! I need to go as does Carson! We are the only ones who can understand and decipher the data! Or have you forgotten that I am a biologist, colonel?"

"No, I haven't, doctor, since you keep reminding me," he retorted. "Any and all data my team retrieves you can study to your heart's content here in Atlantis. Remember the clue, Moira? Second queen to pawn. What if he meant there's a Wraith queen there? Another one with another breeding program? What then? So no. You are staying right here."

"Maybe that's not it at all! The colonel wouldn't put me into any danger like–"

"Enough!" John snapped. "I certainly won't! You are not going and that is final!"

"Fine, Colonel Sheppard. I'll just go to Doctor Weir!" She headed for the door.

John sped to it first, stood in front of her, facing her. "Like hell you will! You are not going, Moira! There are too many unknown variables! I won't let you fall into a Wraith queen's clutches! Or his!"

"Then you can't go either, John! If there is a queen there she will want you. You have the strongest ATA gene in Atlantis, hell, maybe in the whole Pegasus galaxy! And–"

"So do you, Moira, your gene is nearly as strong as mine, so you are staying right here. As for the colonel not putting you in danger don't think he wouldn't do it. Not for a second. Just to rescue you, to take you from me," he argued.

"You are being ridiculous, John!" she accused.

"I am not! This is a military mission, Moira. Therefore it falls completely under my purview. As do you," he added. A salacious glint in his brilliant green eyes. Her anger was only stoking his own. Was oddly arousing him.

Moira glared. "Is that so, Colonel Sheppard? Am I under your purview?" She was trying to hold onto her anger, but John was dangerously sexy. His anger making him tense, tempting. Green eyes narrowed, gazing intently at her. Long, lean body coiled like a leopard about to pounce.

He smiled. Could not help it. "You will be, baby. And then you will be on top of my purview. And then underneath it again. Repeatedly."

"I'm serious, sweetie," she argued, yet her breathless voice betrayed her. Her lewd interest as her gaze wandered over his body, moving back to his face again.

"So am I, baby." He stepped closer to her, closer, not stopping until he backed her up into the table. "I'd like to take you right now. Right here. On the fucking table."

She rolled her eyes. "Conference table sex? Hilarious, John. I am going to Weir to override your stubborn, blind, pigheaded decision to–"

He pulled her into his arms, kissing her. A long, passionate kiss. Mouth possessing, claiming. Tongue gliding in to tease, to ensnare as he grabbed her rear to squeeze. She squealed into his mouth, squirming. He lifted her, dumped her onto the table. Shoved her thighs apart to move close. Pushed her onto her back.

Moira grabbed his arms as she found herself prone on the table, feet sliding on the floor. His kisses overwhelming. Hot. Sensual. She could feel his arousal pressing, pressing her thigh. "John!" she squeaked, pushing at his chest. Both alarmed and enamored by his bold, sexual actions. Intent.

John freed her mouth. Straightened. Pulled her to her feet. "Moira. My Moira...you will not go to Weir. If I deem that planet safe I will take you there myself. But not before," he reasoned, reigning in his desire, his hunger for her.

She was still grasping his arms, feeling the strength. The muscles bulging, rippling. She freed his arms. Touched his chest. "John...I...I..."

"I won't lose you, Moira. I won't let go," he vowed, voice serious, low. He drew her closer. "I want you, baby. I want to make love to you, to drown you in love and sex and pleasure."

"I...I..." she stammered, staring. Her hand pressed to his chest. Their lower bodies pressed so intimately she felt a blush warm her cheeks. "Here?"

He smiled at her consternation. Her desire. "No. We don't have the best tactical advantage here, unfortunately. Ours. Tonight." He freed her, stepped back before he became even more aroused. Became noticeably hard. "We still have the caramel sauce, don't we?"

"Hilarious, John," she scolded, but excitement sparkled in her brown eyes. "Is it that important to you? That I don't go?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "But you will need my expertise, my–"

"Always. But I won't risk you in any way. In any way," he stated. Frowned.

"What?"

"And he would know that."

"John? Are you trying to out think yourself now? You are going in circles."

"You're right, Moira. Shit I hate this stuff!" He sighed. "Let's go see if Carson has discovered anything. Then, baby, you and I are going to bed."

She smiled. "As ordered, sweetie."


	7. Chapter 7

Camouflage7

Moira turned to John suddenly. "John!" she exclaimed as they reached their room.

"Moira!" he echoed. Waited. "What?"

She ignored his teasing. "I've been looking at his the wrong way!" She moved to the data screen. "We need the flash drive. Before we see Carson. That's what the colonel wanted me to see."

"Who? Carson?" he asked, not following her train of thought.

"No! That's why he infected me with that, that altered enzyme. To drastically bring the point home."

"What point? What? You want to see the flash drive again?" he asked, disappointed.

"Yes, John, please." She waited.

He sighed. Trudged to his room. Retrieved the flash drive. Trudged back to find her sitting at the table. He sat next to her, inserted the drive. "Well? Point?"

"What? Oh! Look at the screen. I should have realized this sooner. It's all about the enzyme, not the Wraith at all."

"The enzyme?" he repeated. "Go on."

She smiled. "I know. I didn't see it either. But once I connected the dots...you see, he wanted me to connect the dots. All these variables have a common theme running through them."

"The enzyme?" he repeated, more confidently.

"Yes. But it's more than that. It's adaptability on a microbiological, chemical level. I'm no geneticist so Carson will have to confirm this, if he hasn't already."

John waited, eyed the screen. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to guess?"

She smiled. "Think about it, John. Use that mensa brain of yours."

He smiled at her teasing. "The enzyme."

"Yes." She pointed at the screen. "The permutations of the enzyme. Its chemical composition. It's an original life form, one wholly indigenous to the Pegasus galaxy. I've collated its, well, its evolution, if you will. From a plant's toxic by-product to the Iratus bug's absorbing its chemical properties. And subtly changing them. To the creation of the sub-Wraith, theoretically the proto-Wraith, to modern Wraith. Each time changing on a micro level. Except look what happens when it infects humans, or even humanoids. Dramatic chemical changes. Hormonal surges of rage, of lust..."

"I remember that, baby," he teased. "Talk about an aphrodisiac." He touched her thigh. Gently squeezed.

"Except the difference is the ATA gene. People with the ATA gene are affected by it, but they don't become addicted. Or malformed. And if ingested their bodies violently reject it. Like mine. Like yours."

"Yeah, I remember vomiting that stuff over and over." He grimaced at the memory. Looked at her. "The ATA gene combats the enzyme. Purges it, if you will. So how did the Wraith overcome that? The ones in his reality. Since they naturally produced the enzyme as part of their feeding?"

"That's my mensa boy," she commented. She kissed him. "I have no idea."

He smiled. "Score one for me, zero for paleo girl. Come on, I'm sure you have a–"

"Theory? No. Not at the moment. Logically those things shouldn't even exit. The ATA gene is not compatible with the enzyme. So how did the Wraith in that other reality overcome the bio-chemical interaction?" she wondered.

"If I am supposed to answer this one I just lost my score," he complained. Sighed. "How?"

"My guess? Another genetic tampering." She tapped the screen. "Enter chemical number three. The Hoffan drug or the retro-virus or some other thing we don't even know."

"Ah."

"But I'm not sure which. This is Carson's field, not mine. I don't know why the colonel thought I could figure it out. So...that brings me to the flash drive. There's a second message."

"And how do you come by that?"

"The clue. Second queen to pawn. It's not a reference to a second Wraith queen. It's a reference to Irish mythological cycles. Remember? Cuchulainn and Morrigan? It's a second set of lovers. Doomed lovers, since they're Irish."

"Wonderful," John grumbled. "Do you know the passwords?"

"Maybe." She typed in the name Cuchulainn. The screen blinked, went dark. Then a name popped up on the screen.

_Naiose._

"I'm not even going to try to pronounce that," he wryly commented, shaking his head. "Well?"

She considered. Looked at John. He was eying the screen, staring at the blinking cursor. Handsome face cast in the bluish glow from the screen. Expression thoughtful. Impatient. Suspicion in his green eyes. "'Fair would be a man upon whom these colors should be. His hair like the raven. His cheek like the blood. His body like the snow,'" she quoted softly. "'Or his brows like the raven. His lips like the blood. His teeth like the snow.'"

John met her gaze, riveted. Could almost hear a trace of an Irish lilt in her voice. The love warm in her eyes.

"It's you, John. And me...sort of..." She colored suddenly. Typed the name Deidre. "Naoise and Deidre. Doomed lovers pursued by a jealous king. To their deaths." The screen lit up, a file opening. Darkness. Then the colonel's visage. Moira scooted back in her chair, startled. John relaxed at her reaction. Slid his arm around her shoulders.

Sheppard smiled. "_I knew you would figure it out, Moira. I'm sorry about infecting you, but it was the only way. John must hate me now, but you will understand the necessity. The brevity of our time together forced my hand. Find the connections, Moira. Connect the dots, as only you can. Look at each sequence. I'll be waiting for you."_

The screen went blank. John logged off, closed the pad. Pulled out the flash drive. "Son of a bitch," he muttered, still disconcerted by the dark side version of himself. A living, breathing man. Him. But not him. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. Something...something in the sequencing of the DNA codes, the genetic structure..." she wondered.

"No. I'll be waiting for you. A third message? Or a literal threat?"

"Maybe a third message," she reasoned, "a third pairing of lovers. Of..." She frowned, thinking. Chewed on her lower lip as John's fingers caressed her shoulder. "Hmm." She freed her lip. "And the sequencing..." She opened the laptop. Brought up the Wraith data again. Caught his hand on the flash drive. "Could you leave it here, John? I may need to access it again. Once I figure this out."

He freed it reluctantly. "Okay. But tomorrow it gets locked up again." He hid a yawn behind his hand. "Shit, I'm beat. Why don't you let Carson take a stab at this now."

"Of course. It has to be here but I'm not seeing it," she muttered, staring at nothing. "The gene therapy treatment only works half of the time, right?"

"Yes. Only half receive it successfully."

"They can't have used all natural genes to implement the treatment. They would have run out eventually. So they would have had to replicate the gene, like we did. So it would only work on half of the population. Except the enzyme would presumably counteract it...unless..."

"The Hoffan serum. Effectively blocks the enzyme. Kills the host," John realized. "What if they used a modified version of the serum, to block the enzyme's reaction to the ATA gene? Those Wraith on the Hoffan home world were looking for the original formula, remember?"

She looked at him. His brow was furrowed in thought. "You may be onto something, John. They must have modified that too. That makes sense. A superior genetically altered Wraith with the capacity to activate Ancient technology. My God...no wonder the city fell."

He nodded. "They would be unstoppable, Moira. Unless the retro-virus worked. But it would have to be altered as well, wouldn't it? Unless...unless those men we encountered. Infected with the retro-virus like I was. Halted in that phase, the blue Wraith phase."

"Their development into full Wraith was suspended somehow, by Ford," she agreed. "Where are you going with this?"

"Let me think." He was silent, brows knit. Gaze unfocused on the distance. Fingers drumming on the table while his other hand still caressed her shoulder. "Arrested by the Hoffan serum, perhaps? Because the pure bug enzyme restored me."

Moira clicked on the screen. "The colonel stole Ford's research too. Put in onto this. Here. Maybe he created a synthesized version of the enzyme as well. I bet you're right, John! Another point for you. But how does it all fit?"

"Hey, baby, you're the connect the dots expert. Me, I prefer those mazes you had to doodle around to reach the prize," he teased. Suppressed another yawn behind his hand. "Moira, it's getting late. We should be snug in that bed. Asleep. Out of these wrinkled clothes." He smiled. "Pleasantly tired after some pleasurable sex. So?"

"It must be here, somewhere," she mused.

He leaned close, ran kisses down her throat. Brushed back her hair. "My Moira. I want to make love to you, baby. Sweet and slow. Bring you into a deliciously vibrant climax. So?"

She smiled at his kisses. His teasing, low voice. "We have to figure this out, John. Go to bed, sweetie. I can't sleep with all of this in my mind, and we still have to see Carson to–"

"Then let me distract you, baby," he offered. He turned her face to his. Kissed her. Kissed her again, slowly. Searching. Parting her lips to teasingly slide his tongue. "Tongue? We're not in the infirmary, baby. Hmm...when will that residual side effect of the enzyme kick in?"

She smiled. "Not yet, I'm afraid. And yes, tongue. You–" He kissed her again, more passionately. Guiding her mouth to angle to his. He closed the laptop. Ran a hand down from her shoulder to caress a breast. "Oh John," she murmured.

"Oh Moira, all this science crap can wait," he wooed. Kissing her again. He stood, pulling her with him. Pulling her into his arms, against his body. Hands running up under her shirt to unhook the bra. Sliding now to cup, caress her bare breasts as his kisses continued. "Moira Sheppard," he teased into her ear. Nibbled her earlobe to make her whimper. "Caramel or chocolate, baby?"

She laughed softly, hands running over him. Succumbing to his charm, his love, his desire. "John...we have to...oh John, you–"

"Let's go to bed, baby. Maybe an orgasm will give you another breakthrough," he suggested with a leer. "I'm only doing this in the interest of science."

"Oh? Is that so, sweetie?" she replied as he led her to the bed. "Purely for science?"

"Not so purely, but yes. I do what I can," he joked. "Oh. Hold that thought. I'll go get–"

"No you won't," she argued, guessing his intention. She pulled him back to her, kissed him. Slid her body along his.

"Moira, I really should go get a condom."

"No. You don't need one, John. How many times must I tell you that?" She unbuckled his belt. Undid his pants. Unzipped. Slid her hand in to catch his growing hardness. She kissed him. "Make love to me, John. Sweet and slow."

"Moira, I will, after I get a...oh God..." he moaned as she squeezed, squeezed. Stroked.

"Make love to me, sweetie," she wooed, freeing him to run her hands up under his shirt. Feeling his muscles, his warm, hard body. The chest hair. "I want you, John. Nothing between us. Nothing."

"We really need to discuss this," he countered, but was moving her back onto the bed. Unzipping her pants, unbuttoning them. "Moira, it will take five seconds, maybe six to–"

"I said no, John. Naked cock or no cock. And if you can't get it up I'll get back to work," she threatened.

He smirked. "That again? Crap. I can get it up, baby, don't you worry. Question is can you take it? All of it?" he asked, shifting on her. Thrusting against her.

"Yes. As long as it's only you, just you, nothing else on that hard, big, long ordnance of yours, sweetie. Just that large, stiff weapon you are wielding."

He smiled. "Fuck. I'll be wielding it, don't you worry." He moved off the bed. "And I am wearing one so get used to the idea, baby, until we have that particular discussion." He crossed into his room, still talking. "I don't see what the big deal is, Moira. I really don't. As long as you avoid this discussion we need to be extra careful, is all. All right?" He grabbed a packet from the dresser, turned to limp back into her room. "It will be fun, baby, we can make it fun and I will still get you off in..." He stared.

The bed was empty. The room was empty. Silent.

"Shit," he remarked dourly.


	8. Chapter 8

Camouflage8

Moira was shaking her head. Glanced at the data streaming on the computer. Glanced at Carson who was watching her, a solemn expression on his face. Worry in his blue eyes. "No. We don't need to wait for John as this concerns me, right? Carson? You've found something, haven't you?"

The doctor nodded. "Aye. But you are fine, Moira. There's no need to worry on that score."

"Then on what score should we be worried?" John interrupted, joining them. It had been an easy guess as to where she had gone. He glanced at her, scowled. Resumed his gaze on Carson as she ignored him. "Well?"

Carson looked at them, seeing the odd tension. "Thanks to your excellent collation of all the available data, Moira, I've been able to narrow the bio-chemical building blocks of each enzyme. There are subtle but significant differences at the cellular level. This one," he pointed to the screen, "is the one that infected you. See this? None of the others have this. It's been altered."

"Something's been added?" she guessed, staring at the green, swirling chemical chains. She nearly jumped as John's hand slid under her shirt to caress her lower back.

"What? How? How could it...why? Do I no longer possess the..." She touched an Ancient scanner. It flared to life. She relaxed, relieved.

"No, you still do. Your particular gene is quite strong, nearly as strong as John's. The enzyme that was administered to you was a small enough amount, insignificant enough to limit the damage to your ATA gene but enough for your own antibodies to successfully combat it."

"Insignificant?" John questioned. "You should have heard her, Carson. She was throwing up like she'd eaten a whole banquet and not some insignificant little..." He stopped. Considering.

"Thanks for the reminder, John," she snapped. His hand was still on her back. Fingers drumming along her spine. Something he did when he was thinking fast. Unaware that he was doing it as his thoughts spun. "So that explains the fever as well. But why–"

"That son of a bitch," John muttered, realizing. Fingers stilled on her back now. "He didn't infect you just to point you in the right direction, Moira. You were the test subject." His voice was low, furious.

"What?" she exclaimed, startled.

"What?" echoed Carson, equally stunned.

John frowned. "Those ATA Wraith were all created initially from the breeding program. From Moira's genetic code. And whomever they used to, um, um, fertilize her. Right? So each of them has some of her DNA embedded in the ATA gene."

"Yes," Carson agreed, nodding. "There would have to be a certain amount. It's unavoidable."

"And that enzyme is specifically targeted to attack that particular ATA gene, that particular genetic code. Not just any ATA gene like yours, or mine. Only Moira's. Biological warfare. The way to eliminate the ATA Wraith. Not disable their ATA abilities but to kill them. From the inside out," John surmised.

Carson grimaced. "Like the Hoffan serum, only worse because it is designed to target a specific..." He looked at Moira. "Oh my God...we're talking virtual genocide, John! Of an entire species!"

"Yes. And Moira was the test subject. To see if the formula was viable. To see if it could be produced or synthesized to higher, more lethal doses. Combining what you discovered with more of Moira's specific DNA to produce a fatal toxin. With no antidote."

"No. I...I don't believe it..." Moira whispered. In shock. Horrified. Heart hammering in her chest.

"Believe it, Moira. You were patient zero," John curtly informed.

"I don't believe it," Carson echoed. "The colonel would deliberately risk her life to prove the efficacy of this murderous toxin? Any larger amount and she could have been harmed irreparably! Or even killed! You really think that–"

"Yes. The evidence speaks for itself," John argued. "The city fell, Carson. The ATA Wraith were unstoppable. The survivors are fighting for their very lives, their very existence. And there will be no help from Earth coming. None at all. To protect his people he will do anything, go to any extremes even at the risk of..." He glanced at Moira. "It will never, never excuse this, however." John could understand to a point. But only to a point as he gazed upon his wife.

"I...I don't believe it..." she repeated, feeling tears at yet another betrayal. The ruthlessness. The cunning. The effective use of her. She looked at John, felt a shiver. "He...he wouldn't...he...he couldn't..."

"Would you, John?" Carson asked. Had to know.

John grimly nodded. "As a last resort. Yes. A desperate gamble to save the survivors against overwhelming odds. Yes. But not to Moira. I would never had done anything to Moira. I'd rather die than allow anything or anyone to ever harm her."

"Don't. Don't say that, John, please!" she whispered, upset. Appalled for yet a different reason. "I can't believe he would..."

John met her gaze. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it is the truth. I would never involve you under any circumstances. I'd rather–"

"Please!" She looked at the floor, distraught.

Carson stared, perplexed. "Moira? It is very romantic, what John is–"

"No. No! It's not romantic! You think dying is romantic, do you?" she snapped, glaring at the doctor. "It's not! It's the worst thing you can do to another person, dying to save them, to..." She turned away, forcing down the guilt, the emotions. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" She suddenly turned back to John, moved against him. Hiding her face, her guilt against his shoulder.

John's arm slid round her. Comforting. "I'm sorry," he said against her brow. Kissed her tenderly. Looked at Carson and shook his head to discourage any questions. "Can you synthesize these chemicals into a viable weapon?"

"I don't think the question is could I, John. It's should I. And no." Carson folded his arms across his chest. "I won't. I won't be a party to genocide. Especially when this formula would very well kill Moira."

"Yet your counterpart in that other reality did the initial work on this. With even less information than you have here. And no Moira." His arm tightened around her.

"That may well be true but I am not him. Tell me, is that reality populated with dark side versions of all of us?"

"I don't know, but apparently most of us," John answered. "Except for Rodney. When they lost Moira...when he..." John shook away the thought. How his dark side self had killed his Moira.

"It's a question of could you, Carson. At least develop a formula for it."

Moira pulled back from John, calmed by his solid warmth, quiet understanding. Burying the past. "John? You...you are going to help him?"

He met her gaze. "Maybe. But he's not getting anywhere near you. That son a bitch," he fumed dangerously. He looked at Carson, face stern. Gaze brooking no opposition. "Doctor Beckett, you will work up a viable formula, one that will have the most efficacious effect on those ATA Wraith and kill them. All of them. Write out the entire sequences to download to a flash drive." Before the doctor could object John led Moira towards the doorway. Tone loving, expression gentle. "Moira, could you do me a favor?"

"Of, of course, John," she said, still rattled.

He smiled reassuringly. "Collate what data you have on the Wraith here. Ours, I mean. I need to check on McKay's progress. I'll meet you in our room and we can see if there is a third message. All right, sweetheart?"

"I...okay, John."

"Okay, Moira." He kissed her. "I'll see you in ten, maybe twenty if Rodney doesn't stop talking."

She smiled. "Better make it thirty then."

He smiled. "Thirty at the most, you're right." He watched her go, turned as Carson approached.

"Is she all right? I can understand her being in shock over those horrible revelations but the way she reacted over your devotion to–"

"She's fine. Don't worry about the other. I'll take care of her. Right now I've got her busily distracted on some sciency stuff so she'll be calming down."

"Sciency?" Carson smiled.

"Yeah." John grew serious. "I need that formula ASAP, doc. Whatever is missing in it you will supply. No arguments."

John strode to the physics lab, past scientists who parted like waves seeing his glowering expression. "Rodney! How's the work on the anomaly progressing?"

Rodney didn't even bother to look up from his computer. Not quailed at all like the others. "Oh hi, John, how are you today? Me, oh, I'm fine, thanks for asking. I was just thinking of breaking for dinner if you would care to–"

"Rodney! Progress?" John snapped.

"Of course there's been progress! It's me! These equations are brilliant! But of course since they are mine they are higher forms of mathematics that heretofore I have only theorized about but evidently they are real, physical realities in his world! I have pinpointed the one that more than likely leads to their reality, to trigger the anomaly. Problem is I'm still working on the key card."

"You mean I'm still working on the keycard," Radek Zelenka noted wryly.

"Yes, yes, but I'm guiding you. I don't have the schematics here...your other self conveniently left out that part of the puzzle. I know it is compromised of an Ancient crystal device but I have had to make calculations based on the fact that it has to fit into their hybrid ships, which are pretty cool, by the way."

"You mean I've had to make those calculations," Radek corrected with a harried sigh.

"And I need to find just the right combination and equations and crystals to stabilize the systems otherwise poof!"

"Poof?" John asked, finally able to get a word in.

"Yes. Poof. As in either a massive explosion resulting in the annihilation of a Jumper, or poof as in the permanent rending of the curtain between our two respective realities, a hole in the space time continuum which would not, would not be a good thing. Trust me on this."

"He's right," Radek agreed.

"How long?"

"I don't know!" Rodney looked up to see John's scowl. "I told you this is a very difficult, very intricate series of higher mathematics and if I make one mistake, only one then–"

"Poof. I got it. How long? I need it ASAP, Rodney! I need the door slammed on that reality once and for all! He can't be near her again, ever!"

"I'm working as fast as I can, John! It's not like he's going to stroll into Atlantis and whisk her off her feet to hey hey hey!" Rodney stammered as John hauled the scientist out of his chair and across the room.

"Rodney," he said low, "that is exactly what he will do. To get the formula to kill the ATA Wraith, to get Moira because she's the genetic key to end them. He used her, Rodney! He used her as an experiment to test his toxin and it made her ill. She's fine now but he will do it again, or worse. So yeah, I need to lock down that fucking reality for good. Got it?"

Rodney stared. Appalled. "I...I had no idea he...she's okay now, right? My God...I didn't realize you...I mean he...we'll work on this all night, John. It will still take at least a week for me to devise the keycard correctly, I'm afraid. I can't rush this, you know. Remember? Poof."

"Fine. A week will work. Thanks."

John limped to a balcony outside of the control room. He stood, staring at the vivid sunset dropping like a stone into the waters. A burst of orange brilliance dimming rapidly. Turning the waters into waves of violet. Lashing along the piers. He touched the cool metal of the railing. Both hands grasping it as his mind raced. Already knowing what he had to do.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Elizabeth stood beside him. Watching the fading sunset. At his silence she continued. "No matter how often I come here to watch the sunset it always surprises me. It always seems to change. It gives one a sense of peace, of serenity. The one thing you can count on, the sun setting over the waters. Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"I heard what happened to Moira. I can't imagine...I mean...it doesn't make sense to me. But apparently it does to you." She looked at him. He was staring at the waters. Expression unreadable. Violet light washing over him. Making him appear darker. Moodier. "Carson said she was fine now. Isn't she?"

"She's fine now."

She frowned. Although accustomed to his reserved demeanor he seemed more closed off than usual. It worried her. "John? Look, I know we've had our differences over, over certain, um, decisions you have made...but you have my full support whatever you decide to do now." She waited. "What exactly have you decided to do?"

John was silent. Sighed. Straightened. He had reached the decision. Knew there was no alternative. Mind already working on all the angles. Plotting. Planning. "I'm going to bed."


	9. Chapter 9

Camouflage9

Moira sat on her bed, waiting. Staring forlornly at the distance. The roses a mere blur of color as the past reared its ugly head. Horrible, last images of her fiancee. The sounds. The screams. She shoved it aside. Thought of the colonel. Astounded at his duplicity, his ruthlessness despite the necessity. The darkness in the colonel. It made her wonder about John, despite his assurances. His denials. She knew that darkness was in him somewhere.

John entered his room, crossed into hers. He looked at Moira as she sat, staring at nothing. Miserable. Looking lost, somehow. To his eyes so beautiful in her distress. He knew he could take that distress, that sorrow, turn it around. Turn it to passion, to love. To intense sex. His body stirred at the thought. "Moira?"

She looked over, startled. Stared. Blushed. "John." She stood. "I'm sorry about, about earlier. I shouldn't have reacted like that, I didn't mean to, to dismiss your, your sincerity, your bravery, your, your, I was so disturbed by what the colonel did, did to me and I–"

He moved to her. Kissed her, cutting off her tremulous voice. "It's all right, Moira. Don't apologize." He led her to the table.

"How is McKay's work coming?"

"I gave him some incentive to work faster. Don't you worry, honey. I'll keep you safe." He sat back, glancing at the laptop on the table. "When we get shit-faced drunk, Moira, you're going to have to chug a beer fast. Luckily it will probably only take one bottle, maybe two for you."

She smiled. "True, John. I guess for you it will take a case, maybe two."

"Maybe three. Unless we imbibe the hard stuff. One sip and you'll be under the table," he teased fondly.

"That wine we had on our honeymoon was quite nice," she remarked, as they both avoided the chore ahead of them. "Could I get drunk on that?"

"Yes. But the beer would be faster." He studied her.

"What? Can't decide on what kind of alcohol to use to get me drunk?"

He smiled. "No. I was thinking of something else. Ready? We may as well get this over with. Son of a bitch," he muttered.

Moira nodded. Powered the machine. Made certain the flash drive was plugged into the console. "If I type in the second one it should trigger it to produce the third one and..." She hesitated, fingers poised over the keyboard. "I...I still can't believe he, he did that to me. I suppose there was no other way to test the toxin on my specific ATA gene and DNA since she died in his reality but he could have warned me or just–"

"No. There is no excuse, Moira. None. Don't you dare sugarcoat it. I know exactly what he did. And why. Type."

"You, you said you would do the same, John. Not to me, but to someone...to save the city. The people here." She looked at him. He appeared somber.

"Yes. I would. As a last resort. Not to you. Ever. Not to anyone it's my job to protect. If it ever came down to it, I mean choosing between the protection of this city, these people over the rest out there," he vaguely gestured towards the window, towards the galaxy, "it's my job to protect this city, these people. Our people. That's just how it is, Moira. I'd like to save everybody, but I can't. I have to make choices, decisions based on how best not to save everyone but to save our people, our city. So yes. I'd do the same thing if I had no other option. But never, never to you. Even if the fate of the city hung on it I would never put you in harm's way."

She stared. Touched his hand. "It's...it's all right, John. I understand. The decisions, the hard decisions you have to make that only you can make."

"I don't want to lose anyone else, Moira. But I know, I know I will because I always do. One way or another. Usually in death. By my own doing...inadvertently or not."

She kissed his brow. "It's all right, John," she soothed. "You can only do your best, do what you think, what you believe is best in any given situation. To save as many as you can. But the loss of, of one still haunts you. You must use that to make you stronger."

He met her gaze. "If only...I knew you would understand, Moira. Better than most. About the darkness. The guilt eating away inside you. Day after day. Only engorged by the next loss, the next failure. The next fuck up you're responsible for..." he sighed. Ran a hand through his hair. "Shit. I guess we do need to get shit-faced drunk soon."

She kissed his lips. "Soon, sweetie. Just the two of us. Ready?"

"No, but go ahead. Type." He touched her thigh, scooting his chair right next to hers. "Thanks." He shoved his guilt, his admissions back into the dark recesses where they belonged. His decision still gnawing at him. "And?"

Moira typed in the second name. Waited. The screen flashed. Then another name lit up.

_Diarmat Ua Duibne._

"Want to try to say it?" she teased, glancing at him.

He shook his head. "Hell no. Story?"

"Diarmat Ua Duibne, famous lover. Possessor of the _ball seirce, _the love-spot which made him irresistible to women. A beauty mark. Like you have. So obviously the response is–"

"What? I don't have that. Do I? Where? Huh. That explains a lot, I guess." He shrugged, smiled. "And here I was thinking it was my charm."

She laughed. "That too, sweetie. The corresponding name is Grainne. She eloped with him while, um, while betrothed to an aged Fionn mac Cumhail."

"Ends tragically, I'm guessing," he commented as she typed in the name.

"Yes. In the death of the lovers." She tensed. "I'm, I'm almost afraid of what he's going to say."

"He'll never touch you again, I promise," John vowed. Sliding his arm around her as the colonel's haggard visage filled the screen.

Sheppard spoke. "_Bravo, Moira. I knew you could do it. I knew. And that you will understand. Don't listen to John and his pathetic platitudes. His false assurances that he would never do this to you, because he would if he had to...he'd make it seem like it was all your idea. Actually convince you to volunteer. I know, Moira. So do you. Work on the formula. We are missing some extra protein to make it completely lethal. Work on the anomaly. Leave the rest to me, Moira. Don't you worry, baby, I'll take care of you."_

The screen went blank. John switched it off, yanked out the flash drive, not caring if it damaged it. Longed to crush it in his hands but set it aside. The fury building. "He knows."

"What?" Moira had been startled by his use of the things John said to her. The nickname. The same words but with a slightly different intonation. Making an assurance into a subtle threat.

John stood. Abruptly pacing. Thinking. Stopped to stare at Moira. He tapped his earpiece, his decision solidifying. "Locate Colonel Caldwell for me."

Moira turned in her chair to see John's intent gaze. "Caldwell? John?"

"Sir?" the voice sounded in John's ear, "Colonel Caldwell is in the mess hall. Shall I page him?"

"No. Yes. Wait." He thought. "Page him to Doctor Weir's office in one hour, please." John clicked off the comm, gaze never leaving Moira's.

She stood, unnerved by his scrutiny. "John? What is happening?"

"Moira. I'd do anything to keep you safe. Anything. Even if it means giving you up."

"You...you're divorcing me?" she asked, stunned.

"No. Of course not! I'm giving you up for a few months," he explained.

"Oh. I thought you...wait. What? I don't understand, John. You...you're sending me to Earth?" she realized. Clasped her hands together as he nodded. "Why? I won't leave you! Let me go to Pleistocene Park!"

"Not far enough," he countered. "I need you out of this galaxy. It's the only way."

"No, John," she refused. "We don't even know if he'll come here, let alone when, or where, or–"

"Listen to me, Moira." He moved to her, drew her to sit on the bed. Her hands clasped in his. "I do know. He's coming, Moira. Coming here. For you. For the formula. Soon. No, listen to me," he continued before she could object, deny, "you are going to Earth, ASAP. For as long as it takes to confront this bastard, to deliver the formula and to shut down all doors to that fucking reality once and for all. To eliminate all threats to you."

She swallowed. "John...you...he will want the formula, not, not–"

"You? Oh he wants you, Moira. Have no doubt of that. He needs you. To help fight the ATA Wraith. A ready supply of your DNA. To reclaim the fallen city when he kills all of them."

"How, how could he reclaim the city?" she asked, startled. Worried.

John looked at her hands in his. Fingered the wedding ring. "You. I realized his agenda, Moira. Not only to use you to create, to test, to finish this biological weapon. Of course he wants you. He wants you for sex. But not just for sex. To reclaim the city. He'll enjoy the sex with you but his aim will be to, to impregnate you. A child of ours, yours, will have the potential of our combined ATA genes. Doubly strong. Doubly potent. Enough, in time, to reclaim the city and raise it from the depths. Enough to counteract the plague he's unleashed on their galaxy."

She stared, shocked. Appalled. John's gentle voice serious. Sincere. Fraught with tension. His gaze downcast. Long lashes veiling his eyes. Shadows across his forehead from his short bangs. "But...but there's no guarantee a child would even inherit our, our ATA gene...it's a lottery, John. A gamble. The rules of inheritance are not clear cut."

"True. But between us, our DNA there are pretty good odds that we could produce a child who has an incredible ATA genetic heritage. And with their advanced science who knows? They might have a way to ensure it. If not he'll just keep trying...until he gets what he wants from you. And he's coming now, well, not now, but soon. Before I have a chance to close that anomaly. But not before the formula is ready. Before I, um, impregnate you. Because he won't tolerate you having my child, even though the genetic material would be identical. Trust me. He wants the child to be his, not mine. And yes, you are safe now on the pill but once he has you he'll make sure you don't have access to that anymore. So he will bide his time. Keep having sex or weaning you off of me to tolerate him. You are going to Earth, Moira. Now. Tomorrow, when the Daedalus leaves. For as long as it takes."

She absorbed it all. Felt tears. Appalled by his cold logic. His assessment of his darker self. The motives clear. Concise. She was touched by his concern, his thoroughness. His absolute devotion to her safety, even at the cost of being separated. "It...it could be months..."

He finally met her gaze. Handsome face stern. Resolute. Brilliant green eyes beautiful. Warm with love as he looked at her. "I know," he said quietly.

She felt tears. "Oh John..." she whispered, resigning herself. Flung herself into his arms. Clinging tightly.

He held her close, savoring her warmth, her love. Loath to give her up but knowing he had no choice. "Only for a few months, Moira...only a few..." he murmured in her ear. Kissed down her throat.

She pulled back to catch his mouth with hers. Soft, deep, desperate kisses. Her fingers pulling at his shirt. He moved her onto her back, never breaking his lips from hers. But he pulled back with a soft groan. Sat. "John?" she asked sadly.

"Soon. First I have to arrange your transport to Earth. And make plans."

"Plans? What are you going to do, John?"

"I'm tired of being one step behind him. For once I am going to be one step ahead of him. Maybe two steps. End this once and for all."

"John, you, you can't kill him!" she realized. Sat and touched his arm. "It may seem like killing your darker self, your guilt, your pain, but it's not! It's not the same as what is inside you. You can't kill him, John. Despite everything he has done his Atlantis needs him. And we...we need you. I need you. I love you, John. You."

He kissed her. "I love you, Moira. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. To bring you back to me. But you're right. I won't kill him. But I will end this." He touched her cheek. "Only a few months, sweetheart. As long as you are safe I can act freely. Do what I must. You see that, don't you?"

"Yes. I...I don't want to leave you, John. But I see that," she realized, resigning herself. "I wish I could stay here. Maybe I, I could reason with–"

"No. There's no reasoning with him. It's too late for that, Moira. You can't keep thinking you know him like you know me. Because you don't. You don't really know me, Moira. Not that part of me. And he would play you like a fiddle because he knows exactly what to say, what to do. To make you see him as me. To make use of that shared loss you share. That experience. He's not me. Understand?"

"Yes."

He kissed her again. "I know what you are thinking, and yes, there is some of him in me. It's unavoidable. More than I would like to admit. You might need some time to accept that, but I trust you."

"John! No! You are nothing like him!"

He smiled briefly. "In regards to you, no. Never. But in other ways, yes." He stood. "I'll go arrange your transport. We have to do this, Moira. For both of us. For you." He hesitated, then abruptly left.


	10. Chapter 10

Camouflage10

John limped into Elizabeth's office. She was sitting at her desk, chatting with Steven. Both looked over as John closed the door. Remained standing.

"John? What is this about?" she asked.

John looked at Steven. "I need you to add another passenger to your manifest, sir. For the trip to Earth."

"Oh? May I ask whom? And why?" Steven inquired, glancing at Elizabeth. She shrugged, as much in the dark as the colonel.

"Moira. It's the only way to keep her safe until this ends."

"Moira?" asked Elizabeth.

"Until what ends?" asked Steven.

"This situation with the alternate reality," John explained. He sighed. Took the empty seat next to Steven. "In brief, Moira's the key to destroying the ATA Wraith in the colonel's reality. Somehow they created an enzyme that specifically attacks her DNA and her ATA gene. He experimented on her. Carson discovered it and will develop the full, fatal toxin to deliver to him. That will buy us time for Rodney to find a way to shut down the anomaly leading to that reality for good. He's coming soon, in a week or two. So we need to be ready. I need Moira safely out of this galaxy."

"Consider it done, lieutenant colonel," Steven agreed.

"Thank you, sir," John replied, relieved. He had expected more of an argument.

"Wait! By the colonel you mean you. This dark side version of–"

"Yes, Elizabeth. But he is not me. He's fighting for the very survival of his people since his Atlantis fell to the enemy."

"Naturally you feel an obligation to help but I don't see how Moira–" Elizabeth began, bewildered.

"Moira is his primary goal. Along with the formula," John explained. "They go hand in hand. He will take her and it won't be pretty. What he will use her for to win the war."

"But John, if he's you, a version of you he would never–"

"No. He's a darker version of me who had to watch his Moira die." He swallowed. "He will take her, Elizabeth. And he will never let her go. I need her safe on Earth until this is over. For however long it takes."

"Will he come alone, or with company?" Steven asked as Elizabeth stared at John, still not quite believing him.

John considered. "Alone, I think. Yes. He can't spare the manpower from multiple fronts. I have a plan to catch him. To give him the formula and get him back through the anomaly and then to shut it down. But it all hinges on Rodney."

"All right. You obviously know him better than any of us, so we will play this your way, Sheppard," Steven decided. "Moira is more than welcome to come to Earth with us. Don't worry about her."

"Thank you, sir."

"Wait! Excuse me, but I'm not sure about this plan of yours. Such as the details!" Elizabeth protested. The two men seemed to have quickly reached an understanding with only the minimum of suppositions. "You are planning to catch him how? Force him back to his reality how? How do you even know he is coming here? Or when?"

"I just do. No," John raised his hand, "I'm sorry, Elizabeth, you will just have to trust me on this. No one will be hurt as long as they play along."

"Play along? What does that mean? You are just going to let him stroll into Atlantis unchallenged?"

"Yes."

"Yes? John! That is crazy! Dangerous! When he finds Moira gone he will be capable of–"

"Anything, yes, but I will be here. He will want that formula. Leave it to me. I can out think him," John assured. Silently hoping that he could.

"I hope so, lieutenant colonel," Steven noted.

"John, this is too risky! We should position marines at every–"

"I will, but subtly. If we spook him now he will merely bide his time indefinitely. Or worse take the city by force. If we don't catch him now he will be a constant threat. I can't allow that." He stood. "I'll iron out the details tomorrow. If you will excuse me I'd like to spend some time with my wife before she leaves."

"John! We need those details now! I can't let you endanger everyone here just to–"

"Go on, Sheppard. We will go over those details before I leave."

"Thank you, sir. And no, I will not endanger anyone," John replied. Limped out of the room.

Elizabeth sighed, shook her head. "I can't believe you are onboard for this!"

"He's right. If we don't eliminate this threat now we will be looking over our shoulders indefinitely. And no one knows this colonel better than Sheppard. You are going to have to trust his judgment on this, Doctor Weir."

* * *

Moira sat at the data screen in her room. Stared at the enzyme strands. She had on an earpiece as she talked to Carson. "There's something else there, Carson, like you suggested. Look at the tertiary strand. In the enzyme. The colonel said it was in the proteins."

"Yes," came the Scottish voice in her ear, "I see it. Good call, Moira. It's entirely lacking in the plant enzyme."

"I think the plant enzyme was the original source. The natural origin. Each development adds more chemicals, more DNA, more proteins. An evolutionary progression from plant to bug to Wraith and human. Each time being altered. But look at the one that infected me."

"It's markedly different, Moira. Wait a second."

Moira waited, staring at the spirals of the chemical breakdowns. Unhappy. Upset. Clinging to the science lest her emotions overpower, overwhelm her. Knew she was being foolish, knew it would only be a few months at the most. But she couldn't help the sorrow, the worry. The dread. "I...I can't go. Maybe it would be better if I just went with him," she wondered.

"I'd rather die than allow you to do that."

She gasped, turned in startled surprise. John was standing in the threshold between their rooms. He had been watching her work, fondly musing on her serious expression. Her bright mind. Fighting every urge to keep her with him. To steal her away with him and avoid all of the hell to come. Knew that he couldn't. "John–"

"Moira, look at this!" sounded Carson's voice in her ear. Prompted she turned back to the screen. "It's there. The formula! See that section I have highlighted? This one protein has been altered, but not enough. To make it lethal, truly lethal I would need to add one component."

"What component?"she asked, tensing. But John had moved to stand behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. Leaned close to listen.

"The cellular divide. Oh my God...there is...I'll have to test this but there's a trace of the Hoffan serum...not as pure as our own samples, as if its development hadn't been as matured as ours was. As I was able to develop it."

"That's the thing missing. To make it lethal to the rest of the Wraith, to any Wraith. Oh my God...genocide on a scale..."

John took her earpiece, spoke into it. "War. Carson, that is what he wants. Apparently your counterpart either wasn't able to develop the same serum, or wasn't smart enough to complete the Hoffans' work. Create that formula. Every little detail."

"John? I don't think I can, in good conscience," Carson objected.

"Then do it in bad. Carson, we're playing for keeps here. Write up the formula. Sheppard..." he paused, smiled. "Sheppards out." He set the earpiece on the table. Closed the data screen. Ran his mouth along her throat. "My Moira."

"John?" She scooted free, stood to face him. "You would do this? Eradicate an entire species?"

"He would. They are at war, Moira. And don't pretend we're not trying to do the same. Don't look at me like that, sweetheart. You know we have no other option. Or would you prefer the cullings to continue?"

"Of course not! It's just...just..."

"Don't care." He pulled her into his arms. Kissed her. "Moira...we only have until oh seven hundred. Let's not waste time on ethics. Let's not waste time talking." He guided her to the bed. "We'll start sweet and slow. Then go full fucking throttle. I have to have that pert little ass, baby. A double. All night. Go for ten, baby?"

She smiled. "Seven, sweetie...oh John...John, I don't want to leave you! I can't–"

"No. No more talking. Love me, Moira. Love me," he wooed, kissing her. Moving her onto the bed. Pulling at her clothes. "Give yourself to me, baby. Give me all that love and that sweet, sweet center."

* * *

The beeping sound roused him. John blearily opened one eye. Shifted in the bed. Found himself sprawled on his back. Moira snuggled on top of him, fast asleep. He smiled, recalling the sex. Hours of passion. Positions. Until both fell into an exhausted, sated sleep. He blinked. Yawned. Checked his watch. Sighed. Nudged her. "Moira. Moira. Wake up, sweetheart. We have an hour before you leave. Moira!" He smacked her rear.

She mumbled, shifting on him. Snuggling. "Not again, sweetie.."

He smirked. "We have...let's see...six to go before we reach our goal of ten. Hmm...an hour...let me see..."

"John?" She lifted her head, awakening. "Hilarious. Let's go back to sleep. Go...oh." Realization crashed on her. Dimming her happiness, her pleasure.

"Yeah. I know." He kissed her. Rolled so she was beneath him. Kept kissing her, moving his body to align with hers. "Again? Before we have to get out of bed and you have to pack?"

"No." She kissed him, gently pushed him. He rolled onto his side as she sat, holding the blankets around her. "I couldn't bear it. I should pack. I should..."

He sat. Turned her face to his, kissing her. "Ssh, sweetheart. I know. Only a few months, Moira. I will come for you myself when it's done."

She forced back the tears, the worry, the sorrow. "Just think of the sex when I do return, flyboy. We better be off world for that exuberance."

He smiled. "Yes. We will be entwined for days." He glanced at his watch. "You better pack, sweetheart. Crap."

She sighed. Felt around and produced her panties from the sheets. "Here, colonel. I know they are not as, um, prepped as you like, but they will have to do for now."

He smiled, taking the lacy green material. "They will do for now, I guess, until I can get a properly prepped panty. Let's get dressed."

* * *

Moira stood on the docking bay. The Ancient ship looming behind her, like a monster about to devour her. Except it was going to take her to safety. Take her far from John. She shifted her bag from hand to hand, watching as John hastened to her. "John? Be careful! Please, be careful! Don't do anything, anything–"

"Reckless? Me?" He glanced behind him. A crowd was watching. Concerned friends. Curious onlookers. He had wanted these last moments to be private. He scowled, looked back at her. Gentled his expression. "Moira...take this." He placed a credit card in her hand. "Don't hesitate to get anything you need, Moira. Anything at all."

"Even popcorn for Rodney?" she jested, sliding the card into her pocket.

"If you must," he sighed, but smiled. "And chocolate."

"And what do you want, sweetie?"

His arms slid around her as he drew her close. "Only you. That's all I ever wanted , Moira. You. Your love. Oh...and beer."

She smiled. "Got it, John. Beer. Do you, you think it will be a month? Or two?"

He shrugged. Reluctant to free her as the seconds ticked past. Shortening the time they had together. Steven stood on the ramp, waiting. "A month, or two. Honestly I don't know. However long it takes, Moira. To make certain you will be safe when you return."

She nodded. "Okay, John." She moved free. Slowly stepped backwards towards the ship, gaze locked on him.

He watched her. "That's it? Not even a goodbye kiss? At the very least a goodbye quickie?"

"Hilarious, John. No. I...I can't. If I start kissing you I won't be able to stop. I won't be able to let go," she sadly admitted. Tears in her eyes. "Be careful, John!"

"I will be, Moira. You too." He sighed. Watched her turn and head for the ship. Forcing himself to be calm. Collected. Knew it wasn't forever. Knew she would be back as soon as it was safe. Knew that nothing and no one would come between them. "Fuck this. Moira!" He strode to her as she whirled. Dropped her bag and met him halfway as she ran.

"John! Oh John!" she whispered as he caught her, kissed her passionately. Not caring who was watching. Only needing this. One last, deep kiss to savor until she returned. Wanting more but knowing he would have to wait.

He freed her slowly. "Moira. Get that pert little ass onboard, baby, and wait for me."

She smiled. "Yes, colonel. I'll be waiting for you. Only you."

He nodded. Watched her move to the ship. Pick up her bag and enter it, not looking back at him. He watched Steven board. The ramp close. Knew that he could relax once she was safe. He could plan, anticipate his opponent's next move. Could act freely since she would be in no danger whatsoever. Now that he had the leverage. The advantage at last. He turned away as the ship lifted, lifted into the blue sky.

He walked into the city.

Alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Camouflage11

John stood in the control room. Arms folded across his chest. Staring at nothing. Trying to stem his increasing impatience. Irateness. Fury. Three weeks had passed since the Daedalus had taken Moira away from him. Had taken her to safety. To Earth. Nothing had happened. The only good thing was that he had plenty of time to formulate his plan down to the tiniest detail.

But the waiting was excruciating. Getting on his nerves every day. Every night. All missions suspended. All forward planning halted. The absence of Moira like an itch he couldn't scratch. Especially at night ,when he was sprawled in their bed. Alone. He only had memories to calm him. To console him. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

"Sheppard!" Rodney called, seated at a console. "I think I've got something!"

John broke from his brooding. Moved to Rodney's side. Stared hard at the screen. "This better not be another false alarm," he warned.

"It's not. There! An energy spike in the ocean. In the grid where the anomaly occurred. It's been opened," Rodney announced. Glanced at his friend. John's expression was dour.

"How much time?"

"Wait...there!" Rodney's gaze returned to the screen. "It's closed. About five minutes to reach the surface, five to fly to the city."

"Let me know the second you detect a scan on our frequencies." John tapped his earpiece. "Reynolds. Delta execute."

"Yes, sir!" Jason's voice sounded over the unit.

"Lorne, execute!"

"In position, sir," Evan replied.

John could almost relax now that it was finally happening. His darker self was finally here. "Carson, get ready."

"I'm ready, John," the doctor assured over the earpiece. "Don't worry. I was quite the actor in my college days and–"

"Stick to the script. No improv," John chided. "Radio silence, doc."

"Scanning now!" Rodney announced.

John nodded. "Dial."

Rodney input an address. The chevrons on the Stargate lit one by one. Even though the room was empty. No team stood by to enter the wormhole as the KAWOOSH exploded outwards.

John watched the even horizon shimmer and hold. "Let's go! If he hasn't come here that bastard must be back on M1K436. Ronon, take point! I've got the six. Let's head out!" John waited. Gestured. Rodney shut down the wormhole. John clapped him on the shoulder. "We're on. Wait for me in the Jumper like we discussed. I'll come to you."

"Okay, um...how will I know you are you and not him?" Rodney asked, brows furrowing in anxiety. "I mean, what if he's got on the same clothes?"

John glanced down at his black outfit. Deliberately chosen. He rolled his eyes, held up this left hand to display his wedding ring. The gold band twinkled in the light.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

"And I'm better looking," John quipped. "See ya." Before Rodney could acerbically comment John sprinted to his destination.

* * *

Carson checked his watch for the third time. "It's been nearly an hour. Maybe this was another false alarm."

"I don't think so," Evan replied. He was reclining in one of the beds, looking like a patient. Concealing his gun under the blankets. He glanced at the doorway, hearing the distinctive sound of boots. "Heads up, doc," he warned.

"What? Oh..." Carson turned back to his research, pretending to be busy, but was intensely curious about this dark side version of John. He heard the footsteps approaching, approaching. Entering the medical bay. He casually turned. "Back already from M1K436, colonel?" he asked mildly, masking his interest, knowledge as his gaze noted both the startling similarities and the telling differences. The haggard appearance. The bitter anger and sullenness.

Sheppard stood in the infirmary, looking at Carson. Wary. "Yes, Carson," he rasped. "Bastard wasn't there either. Do you have the formula?"

"No. I gave it to Moira. She wanted to go over it again in the biology lab. I know you don't like it, John, but she feels a strange obligation."

"I see." He whirled, paused. Staring at Evan who was pretending to be reading a paper. He walked over to the younger man. About to speak.

"John...tell me, how could he do that?"

Sheppard turned to eye the doctor, as Evan lowered the paper, giving Carson an admonishing look as he wandered off the script. "Excuse me?"

"How could you, I mean how could he do that to our Moira? Make her deliberately ill like that? Even a microbe more of that toxin and there could have been serious consequences."

Sheppard glowered. "I imagine it was necessary. The only way to test it and perfect it. But that still doesn't excuse what he did to her," he added, as if remembering the role he was playing. He turned back to Evan. "Lorne."

"Nothing excuses that," Carson persisted, ignoring the expression on Evan's face as Sheppard once more turned to him. "I know that you would never do anything to harm her. But him...this other version of you did. And you believe he can justify that in the name of–"

"War, Carson! They are at war and losing. Extreme measures must be taken to ensure the very survival of–"

"The end justifies the means? As I recall, John, you disagreed with that, as did I. Remember the Hoffans? Can you honestly say that you could condone his actions given what he's facing in that reality? Would you do that to Moira?"

Sheppard glared. Evan tensed, hand sliding to his gun, berating the doctor in his head for going way off the script, off the plan. Carson stood, waiting for an answer. Angry. Not intimidated at all by this darker version of John. "Yes," he simply replied. Turned once more to the major. "Lorne," he said curtly.

"Colonel. Doc says the leg will take another week to heal."

"Oh? Well, take it easy. It's um...it's good to see you. Recovering, I mean." The sight of an alive Evan seemed to throw him, but only for a moment. He looked back at Carson, eyes narrowing slightly as if a suspicion was forming. But the doctor had turned back to his microscope, seemingly oblivious. Sheppard strode out of the room.

Evan released the breath he had been holding. He got out of the bed, gun in hand. "Think he bought it?"

Carson joined him. "I think so. It's...uncanny."

"I'd say creepy, but uncanny works too. And what the hell was that? You weren't supposed to wander off the script!"

"Sorry. I just had to ask. Had to know."

* * *

John waited, biding his time. Trusting his plan would work. Reminding himself that Moira was safe on Earth, far from any danger. He clasped his P90 comfortably, felt the stun gun at his hip. Crouched in the shadows of the empty bio lab. Waited. Waited. He smiled, hearing boots clomping on the floor, heading in his direction.

Sheppard entered the room, pausing. "Moira?"

"She's not here. But I am." John stepped out of the shadows, gun raised, aiming at the same time as Sheppard mimicked his actions. The two men glared at each other.

"Where is she?" Sheppard barked.

"Oh, some place you will never, never find her," John taunted.

"I'll find her, Johnny. I'll search the whole galaxy if I must."

John was still smiling. "You might find her...if she was still in this galaxy. Good thing she's not."

"What? You...you sent her to Earth," Sheppard realized. Disbelief. Outrage. Fury. "You sent Moira to Earth for, for months...months of..." Sheppard aimed his weapon directly at John's head. Finger stroking the trigger.

John was still smiling. "Yes. I gave her up to keep her safe. To keep her out of your hands I will leave her on Earth forever, you sadistic son of a bitch! I'd rather live without her than have her fall into your hands again!" John let his emotion bleed through. Not all of it feigned.

Sheppard stared, a murderous fury in his narrowed eyes. "You actually gave her up. You fucking bastard! I should kill you now."

"You could, but then you would never get your precious formula. Yes, I have it."

"Give it to me!"

"Oh, sorry, I should have clarified. I don't have it with me," John stalled, moving closer, moving to the right. Sheppard matched his movements. "But I'll give it to you if you surrender. And get the hell out of my city."

"Give it to me now or I will kill you. And everyone who doesn't comply."

"See, you were always terrible at negotiating. Don't you remember that?"

"I'll just kill you now, Johnny."

"No, you won't. Would you deprive Atlantis of a Sheppard? Oh, that's right, you lost your city, didn't you? And now you've lost Moira. Again. My Moira. And I've lost her too, so please, go ahead. Kill me. I don't want to turn into you."

Sheppard smiled. "Turn into me? You are me, Johnny-boy. You can pretend all you want, but you are me and I am you. You are this close," he held up his fingers, inches apart, "from me. One more loss will tip the scales. The question is who? Maybe Moira...except she's gone, isn't she? Gone for good."

"Safe from you. That's all that matters," John argued, stepping a little closer. "Maybe I should kill you, you fucking son of a bitch. For how you used her."

"You won't kill me. I may have lost my city but the survivors still need me. You can't have an Atlantis without a Sheppard, right?" he taunted, throwing John's own words back at him. "But I guess you can without a Moira. It must be killing you, John, to know she loved me."

"She never loved you!"

"Of course she did, because I'm you. Why else did she give herself to me? Freely, of her own will, her own choice? I'm going to make you pay for taking her from me," he vowed.

"Focus, colonel," John advised, shunting aside his own fury at the taunting words. "Do you want the formula or not? Do you want to win the war, save your people, or carry out a personal vendetta against me?"

"It's not like we haven't been down this road before, have we, Johnny? Disregarding orders to pursue a personal cause. Of course we wound up getting people killed, didn't we?"

John glared. "Do you want the fucking formula or not?"

"Did you ever tell her, Johnny?" Sheppard continued. "Did you ever tell Moira about our own darkness? All the lives you have lost, were responsible for only to get them killed? Did you tell her about them? About mom?"

"Shut up!" John nearly pulled the trigger. Restrained himself. "If you want that fucking formula you will come with me, now!"

"Of course you didn't. You should have seen the surprise when I mentioned mom. She had no clue. And apparently she's never told you about her dead fiancee, since I know more than you. Moira will never look at you in the same way, will she? Once she learns the truth. No, our sweet Moira would be disgusted, despite her own guilt."

"No. You're wrong. She will understand, as I will understand whatever she's done. You don't know her like I do."

Sheppard laughed. A cold, harsh sound. Containing no merriment. "Is that so? I know her better than you ever will, Johnny, and despite that, despite what she's done she will look at you differently once she learns about you. The real you. It doesn't matter anyway. You sent her away. You dumped her. You took her from me."

John dove as the shot rang out, the bullet barely missing his temple. "Shit!" He rolled but his gun was ripped from his hands, nearly breaking his fingers in the process. He leapt to his feet but the colonel was faster. Slamming his fist into John's face. John spun with the blow, spitting blood and followed through, slamming his body into the colonel's and savagely elbowing his gut. "Is this how you want it?" he snarled.

"Yes!" Sheppard stood, wiping blood off his lip. "I want you dead."

"Then you will never get the formula, because it is all in here." John tapped his forehead. "I won't give it to you until you leave my city!"

"Son of a bitch!" Sheppard flared. Lunged and punched.

John swerved, blocked, kicked but a lower punch caught his side. He fell to his knees as pain exploded. "Had enough of kicking my own ass?" he weakly asked. A fist slammed into his jaw, shoving him to the floor.

"Have you? You lost Moira, Johnny! You lost her! Like all the rest! She may as well be dead to me! If you are able to go back for her she may be long gone or dead! Dead like all the rest! You failed to protect her, Johnny! Like Afghanistan! Like Antarctica! Like mom!" He punctuated each savage word with a savage kick.

"Just finish it, then," John said hoarsely, spitting blood. Body an explosion of pain. Guilt made manifest. As if the guilt and darkness within him was finally set free into a physical form. To kill him.

"No. That's what you want. To be free of the guilt once and for all." He squatted next to him, sneering. "Isn't that right, Johnny-boy? To stop torturing yourself day after day? To stop pretending you're just this easy-going, don't give a damn, reckless, womanizing, charming hero? To finally stem the dark voices in the recesses of your mind? Of my mind? I had that once. With Moira. Until she died."

"Until you killed her," John muttered, hand sliding down slowly to the holster at his hip.

"Yes. She begged me to do it, you know. You would have done the same. You will, one way or another. Because that's how it always ends, isn't it? Maybe, just maybe she'll be safe without you. If you give her up completely she could have a normal, less dangerous life, couldn't she? Live her life on Earth far from all of this. Out of danger. Happy. Safe. Or not. Maybe she won't be able to forget you. She will become lost without you. Miserable. Dejected. And when she needs you the most, needs you at her worst you won't be there. You won't be there and she will be easy prey, won't she? Just like mom."

John saw the kick coming as Sheppard stood. The boot aiming right for his face as the words cut deeper than any knife. He snatched the stun gun, rolled, drew, shot repeatedly even as his arm screamed with the action.

The colonel staggered, surprised. Fell in a wave of blue energy. John fell back, exhausted, in pain, in agony of mind, but forced himself to his feet. Spit out more blood. He tapped his earpiece. Adjusted it but found it snapped in pieces when he touched it. It fell to the floor. Useless. "Fuck!" He limped to the comm unit but stopped. Limped back to the prone body. Felt a rage and hatred so strong he could taste it like bile in his throat. Hatred of the colonel. Hatred of himself.

He kicked. Had to release some of the fury, the guilt. "Fucker! Fucker! Fucker!" he shouted, voice raw. Kicking ruthlessly at the inert form. Stopping himself before he killed his darker self. He looked at his wedding ring. It was covered in blood. Unrecognizable. Moira. Safe on Earth. Waiting for him. Trusting in him. He removed the ring. Carefully, so carefully wiped it clean on his shirt. Wiped off the blood until the gold was clear. He replaced it onto his finger. Began to half drag, half haul the colonel to the Jumper bay.


	12. Chapter 12

Camouflage12

Rodney nearly leapt from his seat in the Jumper, staring out the open hatchway as John came into view. Hauling the prone body of the colonel. Both were clad in black. Both were bloody, bruised, brutal-looking. So alike that the scientist could not tell which was which. He swallowed. Stood. Pulled his gun as boots clambered up the ramp. "Stop! Which one are you?"

John met his gaze, dumping the colonel near the backseat. "It's me, Rodney."

"You who? John or Sheppard?"

John held up his left hand. Showed the ring. A gleaming, clean band of gold on his otherwise bloody, battered hand. "We need to get going, Rodney. That stun beam only lasts thirty minutes. He's a tough son of a bitch so we–"

"How do I know you are really you? You could have taken that ring, switched it to your finger!" Rodney accused, unconvinced. Gun wavering in his hand as he looked from one Sheppard to the other and back again.

John sighed. Thinking for a moment. Thankful for the distraction. "Rodney! It's me! You're making plans for a bachelor party for me, right? One I don't want, by the way. But Moira said no strippers. Not in this galaxy."

"Right, she did...which really spoils the whole bachelor party theme, I know, but I'm thinking we could get away with dancers to...oh. John! Thank God! You look like hell!"

John smirked. "Feel like it too, Rodney. You can lower the gun now."

"What? Oh! Sorry!" Rodney holstered it. Glanced at the prone body. "Wow."

"Let's go. Tie him up, would you? Just to be safe." J ohn moved past his friend to the front of the ship.

"You...um, you're sure he's out?" Rodney hesitated.

"Like a light. But you better be quick." John slid into the pilot's seat, leaned with a wave of dizziness. Temples pounding. He powered up the ship. Hit the comm. "Atlantis, plan's a go. Open the hatch." He glanced behind to see Rodney carefully tying the colonel's hands behind his back. "McKay!"

Rodney moved to the co-pilot's seat. "Remember, John, timing is everything. We have to be precise or–"

"Poof, yeah, I remember. It's all down to your calculations now. If you made the slightest mistake–"

"I didn't! At least I think I didn't," Rodney admitted as the ship rose, rose into the blue sky. Soared above the city. "The equations are accurate down to the last finite...God, I'll be glad when Moira's back. You've been a real bastard without her."

"I know." The colonel's words circled, baiting, but John shoved them away. He guided the ship around the city to a disused pier. A ship stood there. A hybrid of an Atlantean Jumper and a Wraith Dart. He landed near it. "His ship. Wish we could keep it." John stood. "All right, Rodney. You follow in this ship. I'll fly him down to the anomaly. Extend the shield between us and wait for my mark."

"You just be sure to haul ass out of there once you initiate the keycard, John," Rodney warned, handing it to him. "Or you will be pulled into that reality forever. And Moira will haul my ass."

John smiled. "That she will. Okay. Transfer of prisoner. Then we kick his fucking ass out of our reality forever."

* * *

Sheppard stirred. Felt aches and pains all over his body. Tasted blood in his mouth. He squinted, slowly opening his eyes. Body stiff from the energy of the stun gun. He looked round. Found himself prone in the back of his own ship. He turned slightly, feeling his wrists tied behind his back. Grimaced. Eyed the front of the ship. Saw John piloting the ship to the depths of the ocean, following the HUD as it guided him to the anomaly.

Sheppard inwardly swore. Blaming himself for underestimating his better version. He moved slowly. Towards the wall. Towards a slight projection of metal. He shifted the bonds to it. Began sawing at them with determined efficiency, ignoring the pain as the sharp edges cut into his flesh.

John was standing at the controls. The ship was settled on the ocean floor. Waters and pressure lapped at the shielded vehicle. He blinked as his vision blurred. Cleared. He removed the original keycard, installed the one Rodney had devised. It wouldn't fit. Frowning John tried it again, adjusting the angle. It slid in with a tiny click. Lights blinked, then faded. Relieved John pocketed the original keycard. He wiped his brow, his face.

Cursed feeling a gun at his back.

"What do you think you're doing, Johnny?"

"Getting you out of my city, colonel." John slowly turned as the gun was pulled back. The colonel's bloody, raw visage mirrored his own. Saw bloody wrists where he had cut through the bonds. "The formula. In my pocket. Carson refined it. You'll be able to eliminate not only the ATA Wraith but every Wraith in your galaxy with it."

Sheppard hesitated, suspecting a trap. A ruse. He felt in John's shirt pocket, pulled out a flash drive. Eyes never leaving John's as he pocketed it. "So there's nothing to stop me from killing you, is there?"

"I guess not," John agreed wearily, shrugging. Moving a little to block the control panel. "But you wouldn't leave an Atlantis without a Sheppard, would you?"

"No. But I can make sure you never see Moira again. The final loss. It's what you deserve, after all. For all the others. And the ones to come. There will always be more."

"I know. But Moira won't be one of them. You failed her, colonel. Not me."

The shot came. John dropped but still the bullet grazed his brow. Blood poured down his face as his flesh burned. But the bullet flew onwards, hit the control panel. Sparks flew. John slammed his hand onto the controls behind him, initializing the ship's power. He fell, rolled out of the way, vision a blurry, red haze as Sheppard lunged past him.

"Shit! What the hell have you done?" The anomaly flared brightly. Colors dancing in waves in the water. "You son of a bitch! What is this? I can't override!" The ship was being pulled towards the anomaly.

John staggered to his feet. Grabbed a gun, backing up towards the hatch. "Say goodbye, colonel. You will never reach us again! You will never, never see my Moira again!"

Sheppard whirled, reaching for his gun but John smiled. Shook it in front of him. Shot his darker self in the shoulder. John slammed the hatch open, staggered backwards into the shield extended between the two ships.

"John! Haul ass! The anomaly's spiking!" Rodney warned.

John heeded Rodney's warning. He slammed the hatch shut as Sheppard was working frantically at the controls. Unable to override the new programming. Unable to remove the new keycard.

John watched as the hybrid ship was inexorably pulled into the anomaly. The lights bright, dazzling as they swallowed the vessel. He stumbled, fell as the shield between the two ships began to fail. Water and pressure were racing towards him. "Shit, shit!"

"John! The shield's failing!"

"I noticed! Go, go!" John scrambled to his feet, ran. Fell onto the ramp as blood and dizziness blinded him. "Go!" he croaked. A wave of pressure squeezed his lungs as water surged in a cold, cold grip.

Rodney swore. He hauled John up into the ship. Slammed the hatch closed before they were both inundated. "Hang on! The inertia dampeners are holding against the anomaly but it is still open!" He ran to the controls, trying to force the ship away from the blinding lights. But it was being pulled towards it. "It's like a traction beam! I'm at full power but it's stronger!"

John climbed to his feet, glancing out the hatch's window. "Is the colonel through?" he rasped, placing a hand on the wall to steady himself. He could feel the ship sliding on the ocean floor. Could feel its straining systems like a living thing.

"Yes! He's through! And so are we unless we can stop this!"

John limped to the front of the ship. Fell into the pilot's seat. "Why isn't the anomaly closing?"

"I don't know! It must be the additional intake of power! We have five minutes, maybe less before we are in the event horizon and won't be able to break free!"

"Crap." John blinked, clearing his mind. His vision. He grabbed the controls. "Get ready. I am shutting down all systems for a final thrust. That should do it."

"Are you crazy? We'll lose everything! Life support, the shielding, the heat, did I say life support?"

"For a few minutes! It's either that or get sucked into that hell! Trust me, Rodney, you do not want to go there! Hold on!"

The ship stalled. Went abruptly dark. Still. Dead in the water. The anomaly's light filled the ship in streaks of color. Yanking it closer, closer. Faster now as there was no power to fight against it. John waited, trying not to breathe. Perspiring, bleeding. Then he grabbed the controls, powered up forcefully. Using his mind, his gene to activate the ship in a way he had never attempted before, controlling it utterly with his willpower. Accessing systems, directing all of them to one goal, one purpose.

The ship was a living thing in his hands. Screaming as the pressure crushed. Frozen as the waters chilled. Dragging on the sands towards the light threatening to swallow it whole. Until the power flared to life. The ship shot forward, off the ocean floor and out of the clutches of the anomaly. The power settled. Lights flickered, remained on. Air circulated. The shield enfolded the ship in a protective embrace. Pressure easing. John sped through the waters, turned. Turned the ship to see the anomaly's crimson glow fade. Then abruptly wink out of existence.

"Rodney! Is it shut? Rodney!" He roughly shook the other man.

Rodney gasped, taking in a deep breath. He opened his eyes. Straightened from his cringe on the seat. "What? We're still alive! We're clear! Yes!" He checked the console. "It's shut! No energy readings! We'll need to scan to be sure but I think it is permanently locked!"

"Good. Take...take controls...of..."

"What? You did it, John! You...John?"

John was sliding sideways out of the chair. He fell to the floor. "I don't feel so good...take over...to Atlantis...you...good job, Rodney..." The blackness submerged him and he fell almost gratefully into its blank, dark depths.

* * *

Voices. John tried to focus, but his head was pounding. Pain lacerated his body in a dozen places. He blearily opened his eyes. Squinted at the harsh lights of the infirmary. Felt the hard cot underneath him. He could make out a woman standing near the bed. "Elizabeth?"

"John? Carson, he's awake!"

Carson rushed to the bed, past the others. He checked John's pulse. Eyes. Head. "About bloody time, colonel. How do you feel?"

John stared, uncomprehending for a moment. "Huh? Oh...like I kicked my own ass. Damn special ops training...how long this time?"

"Three days this time, John," Carson informed. "You took a hell of a beating. Plus you suffered blood loss, the bends, injuries, the–"

"So did I, well, the bends, and I did cut my finger," Rodney noted. He shrugged as all glanced at him, then back to John. "What?"

"The anomaly?" John asked, gaze raking over the scientist. Then Elizabeth. Then Carson.

"Shut. So far all scans are negative. No energy readings whatsoever," Elizabeth soothed.

"We should attempt to trigger it, just to be certain, but for all intents and purposes that door is locked forever," Rodney agreed, smiling. "Which means we can bring Moira home to you."

"As soon as we can contact the Daedalus, that is," Elizabeth added with a smile.

"Yes. And then she can take care of you and make certain you heal properly," Carson agreed. "Moira's safe now, John. You can bring her home. John?"

John was staring at his friends, puzzled. He blinked. Eying their smiling faces. Their concern, their relief. He had completed the mission. Had kept them safe. Had kept them alive. The enemy had been eliminated with no additional loss of life. But one thing still puzzled him. Made his brow furrow with incomprehension.

"Who's Moira?"


End file.
